


Wolves and thieves

by frenchkiss



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Helen of Troy AU (of sorts), Historical Inaccuracy, Liam's a General, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Rimming, Smut, So much fluff you'll lose your teeth, Violence, Zayn is the son of Zeus, oh and rimming duh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 103,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchkiss/pseuds/frenchkiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ABANDONED</p><p>Or a Helen of Troy AU of sorts, where Zayn is descended from the gods, Liam will do all in his power to see him smile, Louis and Niall are the greatest friends and Harry's a clumsy slave boy that Louis can't help but end up falling for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt was sent to me on tumblr and there was a very big reception for me to try and write this so here we are!
> 
> This fic is very loosely based off the legend of Helen of Troy but because it was very difficult to create the fic I wanted if I stuck to the storyline, certain changes have been made. To make it a little easier to understand, here are a few starting notes.
> 
> 1\. This story is set at some point between 7-5 centuries BCE  
> 2\. Zayn is the son of Zeus and Leda, the mortal daughter of the king of Sparta. Zayn is said to be the most beautiful creature to have ever lived and because his mother was mortal, he was raised on earth.  
> 3\. Zeus wanted to bring him up to Mount Olympus but after a time there Zayn grew bored and homesick. Their compromise was of Zayn returning was to find him the correct partner who would be able to love him properly so to try and keep the suitors at bay, he arranged a contest to find out who would fight the hardest.  
> 4\. Liam and Paris (Helen of Troy’s real captor) were the final two contestants.
> 
> I’ll add more notes at the beginning of each chapter depending on what I feel I should probably explain lol
> 
> Because I’m a sappy shit, Liam calls Zayn Agapi Mou (pronounced agapee moo) meaning “my love” and Zayn calls Liam  
> Psihi Mou (pronounced pseechee moo) meaning “my soul”
> 
> Oipho is the word I found to use as the ancient Greek equivalent to “fuck”

The sun is warm on Liam’s bare shoulders as he stretches his body out under the sheets. He keeps his eyes shut as he lets the familiar heat of the morning sun and the familiar smell of his love in his arms fill his senses. He smiles into the back of Zayn’s neck, humming gently in happiness.

He feels Zayn move in his hold, rolling over and breathing out a contented sigh as he buries his face in Liam’s neck.

“Morning, my love,” he mumbles and Liam’s eyes are still closed but he can hear the smile.

“Morning to you too, beautiful,” he whispers back, pressing a kiss onto Zayn’s cheek.

Zayn makes a pleased sound and snuggles deeper into Liam’s hold. Liam tightens his arms around his middle, knowing they both must be too warm but not finding it in him to care because he has Zayn in his bed and in his arms and that alone makes him the luckiest man in all of Greece, let alone the fact that he has Zayn’s eternal love and Zayn has his.

“You’ve got council at noon,” Zayn says after a time, in a voice still heavy with sleep.

“I care not,” Liam replies, his eyes fluttering open to stare down at him. “All I care for is to stay with you here in our bed. Why must I ever have to leave our chambers at all?”

Zayn snorts. “As wonderful as that sounds, Liam, I fear we may be summoned whether we like it or not.”

“Who made you the sensible one?” Liam says, smiling down and kissing him between the eyes. He reluctantly pulls the sheets away from his sweaty body and he pads naked towards the doorway to his chambers, ringing the bell to alert their slaves. After only a few seconds, both his and Zayn’s personal slaves – two young girls named Jade and Perrie – appear in the doorway, heads bowed.

“Prepare our baths,” Liam instructs. “And some breakfast for us, please. Fruit and fresh breads.”

Both girls nod and scuttle off. Zayn sits himself up, the sheets pooling around his waist as he rubs at his eyes. “I wish you weren’t always so naked.”

Liam raises an eyebrow.

“Around people who aren’t me,” Zayn tacks on, rolling his eyes at Liam’s pleased-as-anything smile. “I don’t like sharing.”

“Do you not?” Liam asks, padding back over to the bed and sliding his weight on top of Zayn, thighs pillaring Zayn’s smaller body underneath him. “My little jealous lover. You know I’m only ever yours.”

Zayn rolls his eyes again but can’t help but cup Liam’s face in both hands fondly.

“I haven’t yet freshened my breath,” Liam murmurs.

“I care not,” Zayn says, parting Liam’s lips easily with his tongue like he’s done a hundred times before. “I have had my mouth to your hole before, may I remind you.”

There’s a squeak from the doorway and Perrie stands there awkwardly clutching their tray of breakfast. “H-here you are s-sirs.”

 Zayn giggles into Liam’s neck and Liam doesn’t tear his eyes away from the body below him, just waves his hand in acknowledgment. He hears the tray being placed on the table and then the door to their chambers is being pulled shut so he attacks Zayn’s mouth once more.

Their bodies mould together as though they were made for each other (he knows that in some ways they were but he enjoys revelling in the fact that he, General Liam of Wolver, is the only one who is worthy of the love and the hand of Zayn of Sparta) and Liam feels himself getting hard just from _kissing._ He can feel Zayn smirking into his mouth as a soft hand leaves his cheek and trails down his shoulder to his bulge.

“Zayn,” he groans as a dry hand is wrapped around his length. Zayn tugs at him gently and Liam whines into his mouth, pivoting his hips down to try and get more friction against Zayn’s body. He feels Zayn spread his legs beneath him and he pulls back, panting.

“May I?”

“Yes, _oipho_ , yes,” Zayn nods. Liam kisses him again, long and slow, before gently prying himself out of Zayn’s hold to reach for the pot of ointment on their bedside table. He dips two fingers inside and Zayn kicks off the sheets, spreading his legs wider as he takes a deep breath.

The first finger is always the hardest, Liam thinks, and it almost hurts him to see Zayn’s face contort in pain like this but after a few minutes of slow moving and gentle kisses Zayn is squirming and begging beneath him. Liam gently presses a second slicked-up finger inside, scissoring his fingers gently to stretch him out before Zayn’s pleading is too much.

“Liam, Liam, _please.”_

Liam pulls his fingers out deftly and wipes them on the sheets. He slides an arm under Zayn’s waist and rolls them over before Zayn knows what’s going on, pulling him on top of him and kissing him again languidly, giggling at Zayn’s squawk of indignation.

“Liam, if you’re not in me in ten seconds, I swear on the gods…”

“Why are you speaking of your father during sex?” Liam groans, shuffling up as best he can against the plush pillows so he can support himself as he grips his cock.

“Shut _up_ ,” Zayn huffs, his words turning into a breathless moan as the head of Liam’s dick breaches his hole. His fingernails scratch at Liam’s shoulders as he gradually allows himself to sink down on Liam’s long length, panting into his neck as he adjusts to the stretch. “Oh, _fuck_.”

“Are you wet enough, _agapi mou_?” Liam grits out, even though he’s unsure he could reach for the ointment if his life depended on it right now, not with the way that Zayn’s tight, tight hole is squeezing around him in the way that makes him almost delirious.

Zayn nods and whimpers quietly, biting down on the fleshy meat just above Liam’s nipple as he sinks down the final inch. He kisses the bite mark delicately and after a few moments he nods, signalling that Liam can finally move.

Liam wraps his long fingers around Zayn’s hips and fucks his own up, encouraging Zayn to bounce down and meet his thrusts. It takes a few tries to get a steady rhythm but soon Zayn is leaning back, one hand gripping Liam’s knee and the other fisted in the sheets as he fucks himself up and down, Liam’s strong hold keeping him upright.

If there is a more beautiful sight than this – the naked, sweaty, toned, _beautiful_ Zayn making love to him like this – then Liam is sure it is a sight he never wants to see for nothing could ever compete to the true beauty here. There are patches of pink scattered across Zayn’s dark skin, beads of sweat dripping from his hairline down his temples and his lips are parted, gentle and breathy gasps coming out every time he manages to use Liam’s cock to find the magic bundle of nerves inside him.

“Want me to touch you, baby?” Liam asks, his voice hoarse and deep as he continues the ride towards his pleasure. Zayn nods, lifting his body forward so he can wrap his arms around Liam’s neck, using the new leverage as a way to fuck them faster.

Liam snakes a hand between their bodies and uses Zayn’s precum to lubricate his hand ever so slightly. He slides his hand up and down it slowly, thumbing over the sensitive head. With one hand working his cock, he threads the other through Zayn’s thick hair and tugs, causing Zayn to near wail as his grip on Liam’s shoulders and around Liam’s length tightens, his cock spurting cum all over Liam’s hand and a little on his chest.

That’s all it takes for Liam’s orgasm to crash over him, filling Zayn deep as he comes hard with his lover’s name on his lips. He sinks back into the pillows and tugs Zayn down so they’re cushioned together, Liam still tucked inside him.

“I can feel your seed leaking out of me,” Zayn says a while later, when they’re bordering the time when they really should break apart. “It’s icky.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Best schooling that Sparta can offer and you use the word ‘icky.’”

Zayn gives him a look before kissing him quickly. He reluctantly pushes Liam’s arms off him and slips himself off Liam’s dick, groaning at the oversensitivity and the fact that he now has a lot of semen trickling down his thigh.

Liam can’t help the very unmanly giggle that leaves his lips as he watches Zayn dramatically wipe himself down with the tangled sheets. He ends up getting them thrown at his face as Zayn pulls on his bathing robes and rings the bell.

“Well? Are you coming to bathe?”

“Yes,” Liam says eagerly. He pulls on his own bathing robes and slides his hand into Zayn’s, following him down their hallway to their bath chambers.

There are slaves bustling around inside, heating the water and keeping it moving, filling it with oils and scents to clean and prepare them for the day. Liam pulls his robes off easily and slides unabashed into the warm pool but Zayn has always been a little shyer so takes his time, dangling his feet in first before whipping his robes off quickly and slipping under the water before the servants can see his naked body.

“ _Agapi mou,”_ Liam coaxes, drawing Zayn flush against his chest. “You are so beautiful; you have nothing to be embarrassed of.”

“I know,” Zayn huffs indignantly. “I just… I don’t like others looking at me when you’re in the room. For I am yours whole-heartedly and so is that part of me.”

Liam draws him closer, if that’s even possible.

“It’s the one thing Father wanted for me, you understand?” Zayn continues, even though they both know Liam is well aware. “For me to find my one who loves me in spite of my beauty. Who loves my everything.”

“You are beautiful and you are everything to me,” Liam simply whispers into his ear, because he knows this, has heard it countless times (hearing it from the mighty Zeus himself is something that will never leave Liam) but he knows Zayn doubts and troubles. Sometimes they argue over it, because Zayn once said he wasn’t sure he should have ever left Mount Olympus and that had felt like a slap in the face.

(Later, when Liam was trying to sleep alone after Zayn had said he was going for a long walk around their gardens, he felt the bed dip and Zayn’s weight slide under the sheets behind him and he heard the murmurings “you are worth so much more than anything Olympus could ever offer me, Liam.” And Liam had rolled over, taken a shaking, weeping Zayn in his arms and held him tight until the sun rose, trying his hardest to contradict and take down all the worries Zayn had voiced through his tears.)

Right now Zayn is purring in his arms, body lax and eyes closed as he lets Liam massage his favourite cleaning oil into his hair. He’s just covering his eyes so he can wash it out when a messenger appears at their doorway, clearing his throat.

“My lord,” the boy says, bowing his head. “My sincerest apologies for disturbing you while you bathe but I was sent to you by Louis of York.”

“Is it noon already?” Liam says, panicked.

“Not quite, sir, you have roughly an hour before you are due at council,” the boy says. “However, Louis wishes to meet with you for a time beforehand to discuss what he calls a delicate and private matter.”

Zayn snorts out a laugh before hurriedly covering his mouth with his hand. Liam shakes his head fondly.

“Is Louis here?”

The boy nods. “He waits in your study.”

Liam nods. “Please tell him I will finish up in haste and meet him there as soon as I’ve dressed.”

The boy nods his understanding, bids his goodbyes, bows and hurries out. Liam sighs.

“As much as I like having your naked body pressed against me like this, I fear I have been summoned.”

Zayn groans, reluctantly pulling out of Liam’s strong arms and ducking under the water so only his head is showing, fingers moving deftly through it. “What do you think has happened?”

Liam shrugs, taking a rag from the side and running it over his skin. “I can never tell with Louis. But he is a trusted friend so if he says there is an issue I will listen with open ears.”

Zayn nods, taking his own rag and mirroring Liam. He scrunches his face up as he cleans his sore hole and throws the rag at Liam when he giggles at Zayn’s discomfort.

“You’re big,” Zayn whines, covering his face as Liam flicks water back at him.

“And you’re my favourite,” Liam murmurs, drawing him in and kissing his lips again. “I regret to say this but I must leave you, _agapi mou_. Will you bathe longer?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Not today. I’ll dress with you and then eat. I think I’ll go to my studio after.”

“Come then,” Liam says, wading towards the little stairs and accepting the soft, clean fabric offered to him to dry himself down. He takes the one the servants are offering for Zayn and dismisses them, tucking his own around his waist before wrapping Zayn up.

“You’re affectionate today, _psihi mou,_ ” Zayn observes as Liam takes his hand again and they head back to their chambers. “Did I forget the date or something?”

“Do I need a reason, my love?” Liam asks, tugging the fabric from his waist and using it to dry his hair. He turns to their newly turned-down bed and picks up the garments laid out for them there. His comprise of a simple yet expensively tailored tunic and fresh undergarments, whereas Zayn’s are a deep purple robe that Liam knows sits deliciously against his dark skin. He pulls his clothes on, wolfs down a bread roll and a handful of grapes, rinses them down with a cupful of wine and then chews on the mint leaves provided alongside their breakfast to finally freshen his breath.

“Tonight are we still to dine with my sisters?”

Zayn nods from where he’s sat at his mirror, applying a thin layer of kohl to his waterline. “I believe so. Until then, my love?”

Liam nods, going over to kiss him goodbye sweetly. “I love you until the end of my days.”

“And you until mine,” Zayn says back, stroking over Liam’s stubbly cheek. “Now, go! You are late, Liam.”

“ _Oipho,_ ” Liam swears, hurrying to their doorway and ringing the second bell to attract the attention of his dresser slave. He strides down the corridor and once he reaches the end he attaches his belt around his waist, fixing his sword and dagger in place. The slave appears seconds later, helping Liam to affix his breast place and shoulder guards before finally handing him his helmet.

He wanders through his exquisitely decorated house, greeting his slaves and guards in his wake until he finally reaches his study. Inside he indeed finds Louis, stretched out on one of his window seats with a cup of wine in his hand while another of his slaves, Harry, fans him cool.

“Good morning, you lazy oaf,” Liam greets. Louis cackles as he sits up, winking at the slave boy as he steps back and bows his head. Liam dismisses him and waits until Harry’s closed the door behind before he pulls Louis into a tight hug of greeting.

“It’s been too long, brother,” Louis says, gripping his hand tightly. “And since when were you in the practice of hiring incredibly beautiful young male slaves?”

“What, Harry?” Liam asks. “He’s been here years, Louis. It is not I at fault but your slow eyes.”

“Pity,” Louis says, waving his hand. “Anyway, to business. We have not much time and I fear I must tell you of the worrying rumours in court.”

“Rumours?” Liam snorts. “I thought you knew me better than to trouble me with rumours…”

“Listen,” Louis says, cutting him off, “you know I normally wouldn’t trouble you with rumours but these are serious, spread all the way from Athens to us.”

“What is the subject of these rumours?”

“Your Zayn, Liam.”

Liam freezes, a low, involuntary growl sounding from the back of his throat.

“I am not here to cause you panic, brother, you know this. But there are whispers that Paris still holds the grudge, still wants your head and Zayn to himself.”

“Paris is a fool,” Liam hisses. “A fool and a coward. He wouldn’t dare try any funny business. He’s unpopular enough with the gods as it is.”

“That may be,” Louis says sullenly, “but there are still rumours that he’s planning something.”

“What on Gaia’s earth does he hope to achieve?”

Louis shrugs. “Of that I cannot say. All I am saying is there may be comments this day and there may be mutterings and words spread and I wanted you to be aware. I am not saying Zayn is in danger but I am saying be cautious.”

“Has he enough followers to be planning anything?”

“Liam, I honestly couldn’t tell you _what_ he’d be planning,” Louis says. “What I do know is you and your temperament so I wanted you to hear it from a friend, a _brother,_ even, not from one of those dogs at council.”

Liam nods slowly, trying to process all the information Louis’s sprung on him in the past thirty seconds. There is perhaps nobody in Greece he hates more than Paris, that’s for certain, and if Paris wants to pick at old wounds then Liam isn’t going to take that easily.

As he and Louis start the brief walk to their local council, Liam’s mind is all over the place. On top of this absolute bombshell that Louis’s just dropped on him, council has never been his favourite place. It’s full of gossips and liars at the best of times and Liam has been lucky that he’s never heard much to his face (though he’s certain plenty goes on while his back is turned). However, if what Louis says is true and the person he loves most is now centre of their gossip then this serves to put Liam in a very foul mood.

They walk into the building side by side and seat themselves down in their usual places in the front row. Liam is already infinitely glad that Louis came to him beforehand because he’s already very conscious of the other men staring at him, some unabashedly pointing at the pair of them. Liam feels himself going tense and Louis places a gentle hand on his knee.

“Do not let them get to you when they haven’t yet spoken it to your face,” he murmurs. Liam nods slowly, sullenly, settling in his seat as the last few members hurry inside, followed eventually by the King Anaxidamus.

The court all stand and bow their heads in respect. The King nods and takes his seat before council can duly begin.

It’s not particularly exciting – there are very few threats towards Sparta at present and so much of it seems to be over tax and market prices. Until…

“And finally, it seems there is word from Athens that General Liam’s nemesis Paris is perhaps plotting an uprising,” the speaker, Paul, announces. All eyes turn to Liam and Liam stands.

“I have just heard rumours as of yet, my liege,” Liam says, addressing the King. “I wish to not yet dwell on them and cause fear or further unnecessary mutterings.”

“What is the nature of these rumours?” the King asks.

“I know not much, but from what I’ve heard they take the form of Paris feeling his claim to Zayn is somewhat higher than mine. Utter pigshit in truth, my lord.”

“That may be, but your husband is a son of Zeus, a very valuable possession,” drawls Maximilian, a member of court that Liam has never really been fond of. “He was won by you and if Paris feels a rematch is in order then maybe he should be allowed to settle it fairly so as to not disrupt any allegiances.” There are a few murmurs of agreement and Liam feels his fists clench in anger.

“Zayn is _not_ my possession,” he growls. “And there is a lot more to the nature of our pairing than the fact that I beat Paris for his hand. He is my husband and my love and if Paris believes that his claim is legitimate because he deserves a second chance in challenging me for his hand then he is sorely mistaken.”

 “A lot more to your pairing?” Maximilian scoffs, crossing his arms. “We know what you were like before Zayn, Liam. A new girl or a new man to your bed every night before this and you suddenly stop just because you marry?”

“Yes, actually,” Liam spits. He shakes off Louis’s warning hand from his arm. “It is none of your business who I share my bed with in any case.”

“Gentlemen,” the King interrupts. “I fear we have strayed from the topic at hand and are letting old battles interfere with the more important matters.”

“I am sorry, my King,” Liam says, bowing his head to hide his blushing cheeks. “I do not take kindly to people insulting Zayn, is all.”

“Understandably so,” the King says with a nod. “However, Maximilian makes a point. He is a son of Zeus and as much as it sounds unpleasant to do so, we must keep him happy and safe in order to keep our favour with the gods.”

“With all due respect, your grace,” Louis says, standing up, “Liam and Zayn are very happy with one another. I fear that putting him anywhere near Paris would in fact be incredibly detrimental and would in fact lessen our favour with Zeus. Liam won the contest for a reason.”

“You would say that, Louis, for you are a close friend to both,” Maximilian drawls. The King ignores him.

“A fair point, Louis,” he says, placing both hands together and pointing them towards him as a gesture of gratitude. “In which case, we must be poised and prepared in case of a potential challenge.” Liam nods graciously. “Tell me, Liam, what is the security like around your property?”

“We have trusted family guards at all times,” Liam says. “We only permit four different messengers in and out and our slaves are the children of family slaves. Everyone close to us is loyal, I can promise.”

The King nods again. “Very well. Until we have more news all I can suggest is you keep close to those you trust and train regularly. We will discuss it more in fourteen moons time.” He turns to Paul. “I think this is all we must cover?”

Paul nods, gathering up his parchments.

“Council dismissed then. ‘Til fourteen moons hence!”

There’s a murmur of people bidding the King a goodbye and he sweeps out the room as everyone gradually gets to their feet and starts to leave.

“Hey, Liam?” Maximilian calls over just as Liam has tucked his helmet under his arm. “Does it bother you that the King is only interested in keeping Zayn safe to keep Zeus’s favour and not for the fact that he is _the love_ of a valued member of court?”

“You watch your mouth, you hound,” Louis says, jumping to Liam’s defence. Liam really doesn’t want to watch them fight.

“All I care for is Zayn’s safety,” he says matter-of-factly. “And it is important for all because most of Greece is aware of Zayn and his importance, as they are of me and my superiority, not to mention what it will do to Paris’s favour so really I’m not worried, thank you.”

“I mean, how good in the sheets _are_ you to keep Zayn in such good favour?” Maximilian continues. He seems intent on riling Liam and Liam really, _really_ doesn’t want to take the bait. “I hear he was a virgin before you took him. Is that what you wanted? A nice, pure virgin?”

“You shut your mouth,” Liam says, bile rising in his throat. “You speak of matters you know nothing about. You worry about doing your job in order to please the gods and I shall do mine.” The whole room is watching in awe now as Maximilian takes another jibe.

“People will still talk, Liam,” he continues, waving his hand. “Wondering about how good your husband must be to tame you. How tight he would be, how eager he must be to please you…”

“That’s enough!” Liam near enough roars, hand going to the dagger at his belt. “Talk ill of me but do _not_ let yourself talk ill of Zayn.” He wipes his mouth on the back of his other hand. “Say another word and I will cut out your tongue.”

Maximilian does actually look scared now.

“And that goes for any of you,” Liam shouts to the rest of the council. “Zayn is _mine._ He is not yours to gossip about and you would do yourself well to speak of him in good terms, else you will feel the blade of my dagger or perhaps even the anger of his father!”

With that, Liam turns and storms out, ignoring the cheers in his favour and the booing of Maximilian. Louis’s hot on his heels, scuttling out of the building after him and grabbing his wrist. Liam snatches it back, too riled to even look at his best friend right now.

“Brother,” Louis says, awe and admiration lacing his voice. “Liam, by the gods…”

“How dare he?” Liam spits, storming down the streets angrily, making the townsfolk part in fear. “How fucking dare he open his mouth…?”

“Liam, it’s okay, he’s a fool. A bloody fool whose jealousy lies in the fact that he wasn’t even considered as a suitor.”

“I know, I know, just…” Liam pauses, trying to get his breathing under control. A patrol of guards walk past, bowing to him as they go and he raises a hand back, not wanting to raise suspicion. “I would rather they laid a thousand insults on me than one to Zayn at all.”

“I understand,” Louis says. “You know they say these things to stir you. You are one of the most important and respected members of court and you carry a heavy responsibility. Imagine someone like Maximilian taking that on. He would be _awful._ It is pure envy that fuels him. _”_

Liam nods, the slump in his shoulders heavy as he carries himself back towards his house. Louis grips his shoulders reassuringly and embraces him tightly.

“I know I won’t be able to calm you like Zayn will,” he tells him, pulling back and slapping his cheek lightly. “Do not let them get to you, Liam. You are better than them all.”

“Thank you, brother,” Liam mumbles. “You are a true friend.”

“I am aware,” Louis grins, stepping back. “Will you send my slaves out?”

Liam nods. “Do you want to stay for a cup of wine?”

Louis shakes his head. “Not today, brother. You do not need a house guest at present.”

“Alright. When will I see you again?”

“Soon. I could come for supper one day this week?”

Liam nods. “Of course, of course. I will send a messenger your way.”

Louis waves and stays in Liam and Zayn’s decorative gardens while Liam goes back inside his house, stepping past his guards and clapping his hands. Harry appears seconds later.

“Please send Louis’s slaves to join him outside,” he says. Harry nods and bows. “Is Zayn in his studio?”

“I believe so,” Harry tells him.

“Very good,” Liam says, waving him aside. He steps down his corridor and calls for his dresser servant, who takes his helmet and belt from him. He then heads to his chambers and pulls off his sweaty tunic, replacing it with lighter, comfier day robes before he heads back down to Zayn’s studio.

Their house is large, one of the largest in the city, and Zayn’s studio is at the far end where it overlooks the garden and gets the best light. He prides himself in being able to provide well for his husband and his slaves and guards as well as having earned his place into one of the best positions in council through sheer perseverance and determination.

He remembers the first words he spoke with Zayn like it was yesterday. It was in the largest amphitheatre in Athens and only the most eligible suitors had been picked from every city. Liam had accompanied four others from Sparta, having trained for months and months and following the recommendations of many of his peers and his leaders.

Liam was a very popular name in court and mostly well-liked across the city. He was strong and dedicated to his people and a kind member of the community. He disliked people beating or even talking back to their slaves, was conscious to speak with individual members of his army to find out what people wanted or felt they needed and was a loyal brother to his sisters and the few close friends he kept company with.

When it was announced that Zeus was to be holding a contest to see who the correct suitor for his child was, Liam hadn’t even considered signing up. He liked men and he liked women and he was well known and had enough influence to take to bed whoever he fancied. The idea of settling down was very unappealing.

But then Zayn was brought to the city (almost paraded around, really, which is a thought that makes current Liam feel quite sick) and he’d seen him for the first time. And then every thought about not wanting this beauty, this incredible person for the rest of his life just flew away from him.

Zayn was on a chariot heavily flocked by guards, waving to the townspeople and looking thoroughly bored. Liam pushed forward to the front of the crowds, was able to easily, and smiled up at Zayn almost knowingly. For whatever reason, Zayn then turned to look at him and somehow managed to catch his eye. And he smiled back, which for some reason sent shivers up Liam’s spine and made his head feel fuzzy in a way he’s never felt before.

For some reason, that single smile was all the motivation he needed. He accepted the recommendations of both the King and Commander in Chief and trained himself to near physical perfection, until the date of the Spartan contest came and he easily defeated the majority of those who challenged, including Maximilian.

The majority of those had complained and claimed unfairness. Others had claimed they were unfazed and weren’t looking to settle down with someone who couldn’t bare them children anyway, but Liam ignored their pleas and grievances because this tug, this pull towards this prize was getting stronger by the day.

When they finally arrived in Athens for the final contest, Liam had nerves and excitement running through his veins. Of all the people left in the contest, the only one that worried and unnerved him was Paris of Troy. Paris was tall and brutish, with a foul demeanour and a foul temper. He didn’t let himself think about it though, for he was able to see friends like Louis and his dear ally Niall of Mullingar, who he only saw every couple of years at best.

The contest was held on a scorching hot day in mid-June and the twenty hopefuls were led into the arena, all decked out in finery overtop their armour. Liam could see Zayn sat high in the stands, wearing fine robes in a deep red. He couldn’t help but stare because even though he couldn’t see him clearly, he was still a magnificent sight to take in.

His stomach twisted like snakes as the announcements were made over who would be duelling who in this contest. Liam’s first duel of the day happened to be his own friend Niall, who he cared for deeply but not enough to let him win this. Liam didn’t know why but in his mind he knew that not winning this was not an option, yet he didn’t care for the titles it would provide him. All he cared for was Zayn – this need to protect and _love_ him, almost, was etched deep under his skin and they hadn’t exchanged any more than a smile yet.

Niall went down easily and graciously, as did his next opponent and then the next, leaving him to take place in the final three. He gripped the hand of his defeated opponent and pulled him to his feet before letting himself be lead through to the back of the arena, where they would have the honour of finally being able to meet Zayn himself, who would then have the final say in his suitor.

Liam had never been more nervous in his entire life than when he was told to stand, head bowed, in front of Zayn, son of Zeus and the mortal Leda. Logically, he knew this made little sense – he had fought in wars and led thousands of people into battle but this was a fear he had not known before.

He, Paris and the other competitor whose name Liam had not bothered to learn stood in an awkward line in front of this beautiful boy, waiting in silence until they heard him clear his throat. “You may look up.”

Liam moved his head up slowly, wanting to savour his first look of him fully (who has he become?). What he wasn’t quite prepared for is the grin that Zayn was flashing his way when their eyes finally locked.

“Here we have General Liam of Wolver, hailing from Sparta,” Zayn’s advisor said. Liam ducked forward, bowing and taking Zayn’s hand where he pressed a lingering kiss into his knuckles.

“My lord,” he said, squeezing Zayn’s hand gently before stepping back into line. Zayn smiled at him, this soft delicate smile which Liam now knows is Zayn’s special smile for him, but at the time just had him even more flustered because he is _so beautiful._

“And this is Paris of Troy,” the advisor continued. Paris stepped forward and tried to emulate what Liam had just done but the smile dropped from Zayn’s face and he pulled his hand back almost too quickly. Paris looked taken aback but he only let it linger on his face before replacing it with a bright yet glaringly false smile.

Liam hadn’t even bothered to listen to the name or nationality of the third, too enthralled by the way Zayn moved, talked, interacted with others. He was absolutely radiant in beauty; his eyes were a deep brown and they were sparkling when they had looked into Liam’s, his jaw was strong and set and yet he maintained this subtler youthful look underneath the stubble growing across his chin. Liam was briefly wondering how old he could be when…

“I choose Liam of Wolver,” Zayn said suddenly. His voice was sure and he was looking at Liam with the same smile and the same sparkling eyes. Liam stared back, confusion written across his face and his mouth hanging open dumbly.

“My lord, are you certain?”

“I am,” Zayn said, nodding. “I pick him. Please express my sincerest gratitude to all those who took part in the contest and…”

“Are we not even in with a chance?” Paris interrupted angrily. “Are we not to be interviewed, questioned or anything?”

“I’m afraid I have made my final decision,” Zayn said. “I don’t want to waste time by conducting a questioning when I fear it will do little to alter my final decision.”

“If you are sure, your grace,” the advisors said. The third competitor bowed his head and turned to leave but Paris was not as gracious.

“I travelled all the way from Troy, trained for months and you are not even willing to listen to a few words that may work in our favour?”

“The way you are speaking back, Paris, I fear would do little to change Zayn’s opinion when you do it in such a vulgar and disrespectful manner,” Liam said. Paris growled.

“You watch your tone, Liam…”

“Paris!” the King of Athens entered the room and everyone except Zayn immediately dropped to their knees. “Paris, what on Gaia’s earth do you think gives you the right to speak to anybody like that, let alone a son of Zeus?”

Paris kept his head bowed, a blush creeping up his neck. “My sincerest apologies, my liege. I fear I may still be weary from travel.”

“You have been in my city near nine moons, I wish not to hear your feeble excuses,” the King snapped. “Zayn has the final say here, please accept that. Guards, escort him out.”

Paris was then fiercely grabbed by the shoulders, his cheeks burning bright with humiliation as the King sighed.

“Liam of Wolver, I take it?” he then said, turning to Liam and clasping his hand. “I have heard nothing but good things about you from Anaxidamus.”

“That is very reassuring to hear,” Liam said, trying very hard at not to look at Zayn, sat behind the King but definitely staring at Liam. “I hope this puts you in good faith that I am the correct choice in this matter.”

“Of this I have little doubt,” the King said. “When are you due to return to Sparta, may I ask?”

“Whenever Zayn would have us go,” Liam said. “I have not yet confirmed a time but my horses are stabled nearby and my driver is currently in my residence.”

“Excellent. Now we have discussed at length the celebration banquet and Zayn has requested that it be tomorrow instead of this eve so he can spend some time alone with his suitor.”

“Is that wise? I fear I am frightfully boring,” Liam joked.

“I fear that that is my judgment to make,” Zayn said, standing up and sliding his hand into Liam’s. Liam was almost taken aback by his confidence but he can’t ever say that holding Zayn’s hand like this felt wrong in any way at all.

“I also don’t doubt that you two will get along well. He picked you for a reason, am I wrong?”

“I hope not,” Liam said, squeezing Zayn’s hand graciously. “Are we then to return to my residence?”

The King nodded. “My guards will be present for the rest of your time in my city. The banquet will be held at my palace and someone will come to fetch you. Have you any queries?”

“None, my lord. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Until tomorrow, then. I bid you both good day. Zayn, I hope we conducted this to your approval?”

“I am sincerely grateful, thank you,” Zayn said, dropping Liam’s hand to clasp the King’s in thanks. “Until tomorrow eve!”

Liam wasn’t really sure what happens next but then he and Zayn both were led by guards to a chariot driven by the King’s horses.

“Where are you residing?” a guard asked him.

“The second house along the river.”

The journey there was brief but also silent. Liam had so much he wanted to say but didn’t want to do it where others could hear. Zayn hadn’t dropped his hand though, so he wasn’t yet too worried.

When they arrived outside their house, Liam hopped down from the chariot before assisting Zayn, taking his hand and helping him hop neatly onto the grass. “A true gentleman," Zayn giggled, covering his eyes with his free hand and looking over the river. “You picked a beautiful home.”

“It serves me nicely,” Liam said. “Do you wish to see the gardens or do you wish to go inside? Some food, perhaps?”

“Food sounds good,” Zayn said, letting Liam lead him into the house, the guards following to carry in Zayn’s possessions. The smell of roasting chickens filled both their noses and Liam immediately called for Harry.

“Prepare two portions of whatever is cooking, if you please. Chicken, breads, vegetables and some fruits, whatever are available.”

Harry nodded and hurried back into the kitchen.

“You speak well to your slaves,” Zayn noted. Liam nodded, unsure.

“Why, yes. They are people, after all, separated from us by nothing but rank. It does well to speak to them politely, I find.”

“You are a man unlike any I have come across,” Zayn said. “Even my mother speaks ill to her slaves and it is something I cannot stand.”

“Well then, let it from now on be known that we are a house that is good and polite to their slaves,” Liam smiled.

Their meal was brought to them and they spoke a little about themselves. Liam was fascinated that a child of Zeus could be so humble, understanding and, well, _normal_ and by the end of it he was fully convinced that Zayn was a total game-changer for him.

After their lunch, they took a short walk hand in hand up and down the river. Zayn had just come to the end of a funny story about his childhood when Liam cleared his throat.

“So what made me your suitor of choice?”

Zayn smiled and breathed out a laugh, like he was anticipating Liam asking this. “I fear you may find me foolish for saying so but… I did notice you in Sparta, if you recall?”

“Of course,” Liam said. “I have thought of that moment often.”

“You were the only person who was looking at me like I was a person. It sounds foolish, even to my own ears but there was something about the manner in which you looked at me, like you could see how much I detested being showed around like a lion in a cage and I just… I hoped for a long time someone like you would strive to be my suitor. And then you were right in front of me and it felt like I would be a fool to ignore my heart.”

“By the gods,” Liam whispers, unable to stop his beam. “I felt so the same. I saw you and you looked so, _so_ beautiful up there but you also looked unhappy. And for an unexplainable reason I wanted you to be happy in that moment. It sounds foolish to my own ears also. I am glad it is something you can understand.”

The skies suddenly clouded over and rain began to pour at a heavy rate. Zayn looked up and smiled, throwing his and Liam’s conjoined hands towards the air. “A signal from Father!” he shouts over the heavy pounding of rain against the river. “He said he would let it known if he approves!”

“This is his approval?” Liam asked incredulously, drawing up his cloak to cover both their heads.

Zayn nodded happily. “He is God of thunder and lightning, after all. If a thunderstorm rages through the sky then let it be known that I have picked well.”

“Shall we return back inside?” Liam asked. “I do not want you to get cold.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “It is still summer, Liam. Do not worry so. But yes, let us return inside, for I hate being dressed in damp clothes more than anything. I just wanted to make sure Father saw us and could show his approval.”

A clap of thunder sounded in the distance and Liam jumped, making Zayn laugh into his side. Liam wasn’t the biggest fan of thunderstorms, hadn’t been since he was a boy, but he’d stand out here until it subsided to hear Zayn laugh again.

They got back inside and Liam immediately tugged off his damp cloak, handing it to the passing Jade. “Are Zayn’s possessions in my chambers?”

Jade nodded. “His robes have all been unpacked into your clothing room if you need fresh ones.”

 Liam nodded back. “Please. We will go there now and leave the wet ones outside the door for collection.” He turned to Zayn. “Would you like to bathe to warm up?”

 

Zayn shook his head. “Not yet. Perhaps tonight. Perhaps some soft fabrics to dry ourselves with though please?”

“Of course, my lords,” Jade said, bowing and hurrying off. Liam points down the corridor to his chambers and Zayn followed him, pulling off his own sodden cloak and leaving it outside the doorway.

“Your rooms are beautiful,” he breathed out. Liam smiled happily.

“Not my long term rooms, of course. My house in Sparta is much more my taste.”

“Tell me of Sparta,” Zayn said. There was a knock at the door and Jade walked in, holding a tall pile of drying fabrics.

“Here you are, my lords. I shall collect your damp clothes when you are ready. Would you like me to send your dresser down?”

Liam shook his head as he tugged off his sopping tunic. “We are here for the rest of the night so we won’t need any assistance. What is being prepared for supper?”

“Roast lamb, my lord.”

“Wonderful! Send the cooks my thanks and please come to find us when it has been prepared.”

Jade nodded, bowed and exited. Liam turned to Zayn, who was standing in the middle of the room still dressed in his damp clothes. “Do you, um, do you wish me to turn my back?”

Zayn’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“For you to change. You said you hate being in wet clothes yet you make no move to change. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

Zayn bowed his head, looking unsure for the first time since their meeting. “I mean, I am used to my dressers seeing me bare but I, um, well I have never had someone see me bare who I am expected to lie with. I do not know how to go about it.”

“You have never lain with anybody before?” Liam asked incredulously.

Zayn shook his head, reaching for a fabric to dry his hair with. “I have never. I have never been kissed either. But it is something I have always wanted to try. In part this is why I asked for my banquet to be tomorrow. I have been told it hurts a lot the first time so I wanted a good amount of time to recover.” He looked shy and almost vulnerable as he spoke. “But I have been told to prepare for it because suitors will be looking for someone good and pure.”

“Wait, Zayn, no,” Liam said unhappily, stepping into his space. “I am not going to make you lie with me if you are not ready. That would be cruel and unfair. We do not even need to share sleeping quarters at all if you are not ready. We can take our time, yes?”

Zayn shook his head again. “I don’t want that. I want us to adjust to being together but I feel I am not yet ready to show you my whole body, if that is okay?”

“More than okay, my love,” Liam said, cupping Zayn’s face and running a gentle thumb across his jaw. “In your time, yes? Would you like me to step outside the door for you to put on fresh robes?”

Zayn nodded sheepishly. “If you do not mind. I feel like a fool but I…”

“I wish to never make you feel like a fool,” Liam promised, kissing his forehead. “Just let me know when you wish me back in here.”

He had then swiftly exited the room with his arm full of wet clothes. He left them in a pile outside the doorway and waited for a few minutes until the door reopened, showing a redressed Zayn. His fringe was lying soft against his forehead and he was only wearing one necklace instead of the six or seven he adorned before but his eyes still sparkled and his grin remained wide.

“You look beautiful,” Liam said sincerely, accepting Zayn’s wet clothes and adding them to the pile. “You are honestly the most beautiful person I have seen in all my years.”

“You flatter me,” Zayn grinned, looking to the floor to hide the red in his cheeks. “Would you like me to wait out here while you dress?”

Liam shook his head. “No need, my love. That is, unless you are uncomfortable with me changing in front of you?”

Zayn giggled. “We should test it to see if I am, don’t you think?”

Liam laughed, slotting their hands together again for the brief walk through their room to the smaller one where their clothes were stored. He chose a light set of green robes and a fresh pair of undergarments before he slid his wet ones off slowly, biting his lip nervously because he is suddenly very aware of Zayn’s innocence and purity.

Zayn, however, was simply staring at him with wide eyes. “You are, um, wow, I…”

“Do you approve?” Liam asked cheekily. Zayn nodded hurriedly.

“You are so well-sculpted,” he said dumbly. “Oh, _oipho,_ that sounded awful, my apologies…”

“I like that you think I am well-sculpted,” Liam smirked.“I have been training hard.”

“It’s good,” Zayn said, swallowing thickly. “You are very beautiful yourself, Liam.”

Liam adjusted his robes before he cautiously stepped into Zayn’s space. He gently brushed the fringe out of Zayn’s eyes before he murmured “may I kiss you?”

Zayn’s breath hitched. “I, um, I have never before… I might not be very good.”

“I care not,” Liam reassured, hand cupping his neck softly. “All I care for is that it is you.”

Zayn let his eyes drop closed, his eyelashes fanning his tan cheeks delicately as he nods hesitantly. Liam took this as a solid encouragement to press their lips together slowly, chastely at first before he opened his mouth slightly.

Zayn let out a surprised squeak as their mouths made contact but he kissed back after a second, his fingers digging into Liam’s hips like he needed it to stay upright. Liam gripped tighter into Zayn’s hair as his own knees went weak, his tongue coming out to tentatively trace the length of Zayn’s plump bottom lip.

He was eager and pliant, perhaps a little sloppy but Liam had meant it when he said he didn’t care, for kissing Zayn was unlike any other kiss he’d ever shared with anyone. He loved to kiss; he loved being intimate with lots of people in lots of ways, feeling a variety of different mouths and tongues but now he was almost certain he didn’t want to feel another set of lips that weren’t Zayn’s for the rest of his days.

“Liam,” Zayn whispered softly, pulling back and wiping the trail of spit that was keeping them connected. “By Hades, Liam…”

“Was that…?” Liam hesitated. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Kiss me again,” Zayn demanded. Liam did, parting his lips gently with his tongue and tugging him close, pouring what he hoped was all his emotion into their exchange. His legs felt weak and his lungs were near to bursting but he didn’t want to stop this for even a second.

“Can we go to the bed?” Zayn asked after a time. Liam pulled back, hesitant. “Not for that,” Zayn added hurriedly. “I still think I am not quite ready to lay with you. But my knees feel weak and my back feels sore.”

“Of course, _agapi mou,”_ Liam said, sliding his hands to Zayn’s waist and gently laying on his back on the soft sheets. Zayn tilted his head straight away and Liam joined their lips, kissing him languid and slow.

They only stopped when there was a knock on the door, signalling the readiness of their meal. Liam kissed him quickly, one last soft peck before he sat up and ran his fingers through his hand-rumpled curls.

“You are a fast learner, Zayn,” he beamed down to him. “You kiss with passion and wonder. It is already wonderful.”

“You are certainly free-flowing with the compliments,” Zayn giggled. “But thank-you, Liam. Kissing you is a pleasure I could never have anticipated.”

“I am glad,” Liam said, jumping off the bed and helping Zayn to his feet. “We can continue after our meal if you would like?”

“I am not sure I could decline with a dagger to my throat,” Zayn smiled, taking Liam’s hand and pressing it to his lips. “To the dining hall?”

Their meal was fresh and delicious and they exchanged pleasant chatter throughout. Afterwards, Zayn had requested some time to bathe, so Liam sent his slaves to prepare that. He himself took the time to send his messengers out (thankfully the storm had worn off); one carrying a letter to Niall and one to Louis saying he was happy and well, he was the victor if the news had not yet broken and Zayn was happy, a kind-hearted and beautiful person and Liam was very excited to see how their relationship would develop on their return to Sparta.

Zayn returned to their quarters at sundown, when Liam was undressing himself with heavy-lidded eyes. He felt a pair of arms snake around his waist and he immediately lent into the touch, already taken aback by how much it was something he craved and missed.

“You smell amazing,” he breathed out. “Like a meadow in springtime.”

“Thank you, Liam,” Zayn murmured. “Are we to sleep soon? I fear I cannot keep my eyes open for much longer.”

“Me as well, _agapi mou,”_ Liam said. “Do you wish to sleep in here or would you like me to call Jade to turn you down a separate room?”

Zayn shook his head. “I have said this to you already. You are already calling me your love and you are a truer man than I have ever known. It would be an honour to share your bed even if we are not quite ready to lie with each other at present.”

Liam nodded, gently pulling back the sheets and sliding under. He shuffled across and tugged Zayn onto the mattress, giggling as Zayn let out a very unmanly squeal in response.

“You took me by surprise," Zayn huffed indignantly, playfully pushing Liam away. He rolled onto his side and slid a hand under his pillow, staring intently into Liam’s eyes with the same sparkles that made Liam weak at the knees. “Should I consider it odd that I consider you to be a truer friend than I have known before even after such a short time?”

“No,” Liam murmured back, fingers itching to pull Zayn closer. “I feel the same. There is something special about our pairing, I swear it.”

“There was no other suitor I could have possibly picked,” Zayn promised. “And if you had not won the contest I would have sent my advisors to Sparta to search for the beautiful man with the curls and the smile that crinkles his soft eyes.”

“You could not possibly have known then,” Liam said, though he was secretly thrilled to pieces.

Zayn gave him a look. “You said yourself earlier that you knew in that moment also.”

“I toy, I toy, for I agree with you wholeheartedly,” Liam said, reaching for Zayn’s hand. “I felt like there was no choice for me but to win the contest.”

“And I am infinitely glad you did,” Zayn said, drawing their hands closer together so he could press a kiss into Liam’s hand. “You never got the chance to tell me of Sparta.”

“Were you not shown much of my grand city upon your visit?”

Zayn shook his head. “Close to none. They kept me under heavy guard. I was tempted to slip away but I have never been into a city unguarded and my nerves got the better of me.”

“Sparta is a beautiful city,” Liam told him. “There are beautiful buildings lining the streets and a market not far from my house. I shall take you there.”

“I would like that a lot,” Zayn smiled. “What is there to do?”

“We have a theatre and a school,” Liam explained. “I have gardens attached to my property so there is much to explore out there as well.”

“I like to paint,” Zayn admitted quietly. “That is my favourite thing to do. I also sketch and sometimes dabble in pottery but painting is my most favourite passion.”

Liam gasped. “You never said,” he questioned. “I have many a room spare that we can turn into a painting room for you if that’s a desire of yours.”

Zayn’s eyes went wide. “You’d be willing to let me?”

Liam furrowed his brows. “Without a doubt. I bet you are of an incredible talent.”

“My friends back in Thebes said that I would probably be matched with a suitor who would want me to do little to indulge my passions and would want me to take interest in their things,” Zayn said in a small voice.

“These people do not sound like very fair friends,” Liam said sternly. “If you wish to paint then I shall buy you a thousand brushes of every size.”

Zayn’s eyes sparkled with joy. “You would?”

Liam nodded against the pillow. “If it brings you happiness then you can have the best money can buy.”

“ _Psihi mou,”_ Zayn whispered softly, biting his lip, “you are already the greatest friend I have ever known. You speak kinder words to my heart than any other ever has.”

“And I shall continue to do so until you no longer wish to hear them,” Liam whispered back. “I may have won a contest to win you but I also strive to win your heart on top. I feel like it is my earthly duty to do so.”

“I wish to be the prize you feel you deserve,” Zayn murmured, leaning forward to kiss his lips softly once more. Liam kissed back happily, squeezing Zayn’s hand gently as his mouth parted for Zayn’s tongue.

“Let us have no more talk of prizes. Just know that I wish to be yours and it is an honour to hear you profess that you wish to be mine. The rest we leave to fate.”

They fall asleep tangled in each other and when Liam woke up the next morning to Zayn’s arm draped across his waist he was certain he never wanted to wake up another way for the rest of his days.

Six days later they had begun their travels back to Sparta, Louis accompanying them as well. It was long and weary and Zayn spent much of it curled up asleep at Liam’s side (Liam was surprised, even now, at the lengths and locations Zayn could fall asleep). It took near a week and the generous hospitality of townsfolk along the way but eventually they were home. Liam took a long soak in his own bath and then fell asleep on his own sheets with Zayn curled into his side.

A few days after that it was late and Liam was laying on top of Zayn, kissing him fervently when Zayn broke it, cursing under his breath and flushing a deep magenta.

“My love, what troubles you?”

Zayn let out a noise of frustration. “I, um, I don’t know… I think I’m hard?”

Liam stared. “You think?”

“Yes, okay, I _know,”_ Zayn huffed irritably. “I am just… I am unsure…”

“Unsure of what?”

Zayn groaned. “I just… you are not yet hard when we kiss as we do and I do not want to rush if _you_ are not ready either.” Liam just stared. “I know you have done this before,” Zayn rambled on, “and I fully understand if you are not attracted to me because I am not ready to lie with you or…”

“Zayn,” Liam gulped. He took Zayn’s wrist and guided his hand to between his legs carefully. “I am so attracted to you. I wish to lie with you more than you can ever know but I am not going to force you into such an act if the time does not feel right.”

Zayn nodded. “Are you… do you usually get hard when we kiss?”

Liam looked sheepish. “I try not to get hard but there are times when I cannot help myself. I do not wish to make it look like I’m putting pressure on you.”

“Liam,” Zayn said, stunned. “You are…”

“I love you so much,” Liam blurted then, cheeks burning. “So much. I will wait for you as long as you wish.”

“I love you too,” Zayn whispered back. “By the gods, Liam, I love you with my all.”

They kissed then, Zayn wrapping his arms tightly around Liam’s neck and pulling them as close together as they could get without being inside one another. Both of them could feel the other’s erections pressed against their thighs and Zayn broke the kiss in a gasp, head falling back onto the pillow as Liam grinded his hips down ever so slightly.

“Can I?” Liam moaned. “May I make you come?”

“How?” Zayn whimpered, pivoting his hips to match Liam’s movements. “With your hand?”

“Or my mouth,” Liam said as he sucked a bruise into the juncture of Zayn’s neck. Zayn gasped.

“But I… you’d want to put that in your mouth? But is that not unsanitary?”

“Sex is unsanitary by its very nature,” Liam said, moving further down Zayn’s chest. “But you have bathed and I would very much like to put you in my mouth, if you would let me.”

Zayn whimpered again, breathing laboured as Liam kissed down his torso and across his hipbones. Liam mouthed at his length before he took him down into his throat, sucking and licking and stroking until Zayn came hot and stuttering down his throat. He slurped around him, gathering up the last drops until Zayn was moaning, tugging him up by his hair.

“Liam,” Zayn groaned. “Liam, is it unsanitary to kiss you still?”

Liam shook his head, leaning down to lick into Zayn’s mouth and grind into his thigh. “May I come too?” he stammered out and Zayn nodded hurriedly.

He shoved his hand into his undergarments and pumped himself hurriedly, spilling all over his fist and crowing out Zayn’s name as he does so. As he went to wipe his fingers on the sheets, Zayn grabbed for his wrist, sucking his long digits into his sinful mouth with wide eyes.

“By the gods, Zayn, do you wish to get me hard again?” Liam groaned.

“That was amazing,” Zayn breathed out instead of answering. “I already knew this but your mouth has many merits.”

Liam just snorted into Zayn’s neck, lying himself down on top of him carefully and snuggling him close.

After two months in Sparta their wedding took place, a grand affair attended by nobles and generals from across Greece. They exchanged their vows and rings at noon, dined and drank late into the evening and that night, Liam stripped Zayn of his robes and spread him out on the bed, awed and drunk on both good wine and love.

He took his time, covering Zayn’s stomach, wrists, chest and face with kisses and gentle touches. He draped Zayn’s legs across his shoulders and spent what felt like hours licking away at his entrance, working him open until he could slide an ointment-slicked finger inside.

He moved slow, letting Zayn adjust to the pain and the foreign feeling before a hurried nod encouraged him to add a second. He scissored his fingers to encourage the unbearable tightness open, working his tongue back inside until Zayn was literally sobbing above him.

“Please, _psihi mou, please,”_ Zayn begged, tugging at Liam’s hair. “Please make love to me.”

Liam shuffled up, kissing him slowly and lovingly before he attempted to press inside. “If it is too much at all, you must ask me to stop, yes?”

“Yes, _oipho, yes,_ ” Zayn moaned, fingernails digging into Liam’s bicep. “I love you, I love you with all my being.”

“My _agapi mou,”_ Liam murmured, pressing his forehead onto Zayn’s shoulder as he coaxed himself inside slowly. “Are you in pain? I do not wish to hurt you.”

“Oh, oh, _oh,”_ Zayn stammered, his breath laboured and choked. “Liam, please don’t move a moment.”

Liam paused, pressing what he hoped were soothing kisses into Zayn’s neck. After a time Zayn tugs on his hair, encouraging him to press deeper again.

It takes a long, long time and Liam nearly comes on several occasion because Zayn is so, so tight and he is so, so gone for his husband but eventually they built up a steady rhythm. It takes very little time for Zayn to climax once Liam is actually inside him but Liam pulled out and pumped himself until Zayn’s face and chest were streaked with his cum, eventually collapsing onto the sheets beside him.

“I am definitely going to be unable to walk tomorrow,” Zayn sighed, curling into Liam’s side. “You will have to carry me every place we go.”

“Why must we go anywhere?” Liam smiled, pressing kisses across Zayn’s sweaty collarbones. “We are newlyweds, it is expected for us to spend the next few days in our chambers and to not be seen in public.”

“Well, if it’s expected…” Zayn giggled, using his thumb to clear the flecks of cum from his face. Liam pulled out of his embrace, padding naked to their smaller bathing room and returning with a piece of wet cloth.

He mopped Zayn’s face clean as best he could before sliding back under the tangled sheets, pulling Zayn’s back flush against his chest and drifting off into a happy, sated and blissfully peaceful slumber.

And now two years on, he stands in the doorway to Zayn’s studio, knowing that he loves this person more than anything; the one who he locked eyes with by chance and eventually earned the love of like he fears others wouldn’t have, has been threatened to be taken from him and ridiculed to his face makes him impossibly upset.

“Liam?” Zayn says, turning at his stool like he sensed he was being watched. His face drops when he sees Liam’s pained expression. “Liam, my love, what troubles you?”

He places his paint palette on the floor and hurries over to him, sliding into Liam’s embrace and clinging to him as Liam buries his face in his neck and fights back the urge to cry. Zayn just holds him, murmuring “ _psihi mou, psihi mou”_ over and over until Liam pulls back to cup Zayn’s face in his hands, stroking his thumb across his cheekbones.

“I love you so much,” he croaks. Zayn just nods, sliding his own hands up to cover Liam’s to then lace their fingers and tug him towards their chambers. They both slide onto their mattress together and Liam rests his head on Zayn’s chest, letting Zayn’s fingers run soothingly across his scalp.

Zayn never asks what’s wrong until Liam is willing to tell and Liam loves that, loves that he lets Liam keep some things to himself if he deems it necessary.

“Council was tough,” he croaks after a while. “People made comments that cut me deep to the bone.”

“You should not let words affect you so, Liam, you are a tougher, better man than all of them,” Zayn says softly. Liam looks up at him sadly.

“It is not easy when they speak ill of you, _agapi mou."_ Zayn swallows and his hand stills.

“Oh.”

“I could not stand it, _would_ not stand it. I made clear that their tongues are to be cut from their mouths if I hear anything of the sort again.”

“Why do people speak ill of me?” Zayn mumbles. “What have I done to offend?”

“Nothing, my darling, absolutely nothing. It is those who wish to offend me. Jealous of my power and influence, no doubt.”

Liam swallows, wondering for a moment whether he should warn Zayn of the threats. However, Zayn still looks hurt and unbearably upset for being talked of harshly and for causing Liam distress so Liam resigns himself to hold Zayn close and push the what he still assumes to be an empty and simply rumoured threat to the back of his mind.


	2. The Devastation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Liam's plagued with nightmares, Zayn wants to ease his load, Harry and Louis work some things out and then the unthinkable happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii. First of all I just want to say a huge thank-you to the positive response my first chapter got! A lot of people seemed to love it and I gained a lot of author subscribers overnight so thank thank thank-you all!
> 
> I also just wanted to address a few of the criticisms I received. First of all, I'm not going to pretend I know a lot about mythology (I know the basics of a lot of stories and the like) but this is a work of pure fiction. Secondly, I was told that I was making the character of Zayn too weak and making him the woman in the relationship. This is not how it is supposed to come across but Liam is a general and high up in the court while Zayn is an artist but that absolutely does not make Zayn weaker, or more feminine or submissive. If it isn't clear that he's got Liam wrapped around his little finger yet then I'm writing wrong. He is just as powerful, he just takes a calmer, more subtle approach.
> 
> Anyway, here is chapter two! It may as well be titled "This Is How Many 1d Song Titles I Can Fit Into A Mythology AU" or maybe even "The Sappiest Piece Of Shit On The AO3 Ziam Tag." I hope you all enjoy!

“Liam? Liam, wake up, my love. Liam? Liam!”

Liam rolls over and opens his eyes slowly, feeling Zayn’s palm pressed hard into his forehead. He’s burning warm and shaking and Zayn’s eyes are wide and concerned. “Zayn?” he croaks.

“ _Psihi mou,”_ Zayn says softly, stroking Liam’s hair from his eyes. “You were having yet another nightmare. And tonight seemed the worst of them all.”

Liam sighs, pulling Zayn into his chest and clinging to him. His breaths are laboured and ragged and his eyes are leaking tears but Zayn is firm and reassuring, peppering his neck with kisses and stroking up and down his chest.

“My love,” he whispers. “I am sorry to have woken you like this.”

“Do not be,” Zayn promises. “I just wish you would tell me what plagues you.”

“I do not wish to trouble your mind,” Liam says, burying his nose in Zayn’s hair. “It is hard enough to bear without troubling you on top.”

“You have not slept a full night in near fourteen moons,” Zayn says. “I wish you would at least share the burden so you could sleep through ‘til morning.”

“I still wish not to tell you,” Liam whispers into Zayn’s temple. “I fear it is just my mind running away from me.”

“Liam, I know that cannot be it. I… I do not need to know what was said at council that day that has begun them but I wish to know how to aid you or make them stop.”

“You aid me enough by holding me during and after,” Liam says, nuzzling into Zayn’s neck. Zayn sighs, clearly frustrated, but still clings to him, murmuring words of reassurance into his skin.

In truth, Liam does not wish to tell Zayn of his dreams because he still fears that they may come true, that they are some sort of foreshadowed message being shown to him as a message from the gods. In each dream, Liam returns home to find their house ransacked, their slaves killed and Zayn nowhere to be seen.

He does not wish to panic him, or Louis, or even himself even more than he already is. There has been no more word from Paris and no more rumours spread around court, which is reassuring in a way, but since the day Louis told him of them Liam has been unable to shift the threats from his mind.

The idea of telling Zayn that Paris was making any kind of a threat, especially after Zayn had only seen him briefly and already learned to despise him in such a short time, was not something particularly wanted to do, especially if it ended up to be unfounded.

Zayn’s still staring at him with wide eyes, hurt shining through at the fact that Liam will not open up to him. He’s still sweating so he kisses Zayn’s forehead and pulls himself out of his arms, padding over to the table where a jug of water sits. He pours it into the goblet beside it and chugs it down in one swift gulp before finding a rag and dipping it in the water, cooling off his burning skin.

Zayn huffs, sliding out of bed and trudging over to him. He takes the rag from Liam’s hand, ringing out the excess wetness into the goblet and then running it over Liam’s forehead.

“Nobody knows you the way I do, Liam,” he murmurs, repeating the action and this time washing Liam’s neck. “And nobody loves you this fiercely, not the way I do. And I worry that you feel you have an image to hold up but the truth is you are not fireproof. You have things that ail you and you cannot let them weigh you down. I only wish for you to tell me so it does not burn you from the inside out.”

Liam sighs heavily, scrubbing a hand over his damp face. He stands there, slumped and defeated while Zayn runs the cool rag down his arms, his chest and his back. He drops the rag in the goblet and slips his hand into Liam’s to tug him back over to their bed. Once they’re back under the sheet Liam lets himself be drawn back into Zayn’s chest, letting the feeling of being protected and warm fill his veins before he opens his mouth.

“In my dreams you are taken from me,” he breathes out, arms tightening around him and hands clawing at Zayn’s bare back. “You are taken from me and that is the worst nightmare I could ever envision.”

“Liam…” Zayn says soothingly, but he’s cut off from continuing.

“I am not fireproof but when I am with you I feel as if I am. If you were taken from me then I’d… I couldn’t…” He chokes back a sob.

“Liam, _psihi mou,_ I am not going anywhere. I would rather lose my head than leave your side and that is what any kidnapper will have to do to get me from your house,” Zayn says, grabbing his face in his hands and pressing a firm kiss into Liam’s slack mouth. “What has brought these thoughts on?”

“I… I know not,” Liam stammers, eyes closing so Zayn can’t see the untruth in them. Zayn just sighs and kisses him again.

“I love you with my entire heart, Liam, but I cannot stand it when you tell me lies. And you are a terrible liar.”

“ _Agapi mou,_ ” Liam says with a sad, soft laugh, “I never wish to have to lie to you, but know when I do it I do it to protect you.”

“I do know, baby, I do know,” Zayn says, kissing him between the eyes before pulling the sheets up over their shoulders. “We can speak more of it in the morning; I wish for you to at least try and go back to sleep.”

“I will try, I promise. I love you with my whole being, please know this as well.”

“I know,” Zayn says with a small smile. “It is the knowledge I hold closest to my heart. I love you the same.”

They kiss again, fingers tangling together as they fall asleep, too warm to fall asleep cuddling but loathed to be separated for any time.

When dawn breaks and Liam wakes up, he realises for a wonderful second that he’s slept through until morning but when he opens his eyes he sees the space in the bed next to him is empty.

He scrabbles to sit up, fear spreading over him like a crashing wave. He jumps out of bed and grabs a tunic from his clothing room without even checking to see if it’s his or Zayn’s before he throws open the door to his bedroom and shouts down the corridor to where his guards stand.

“My men, have you seen Zayn since sunrise?”

“Yes, my lord,” the taller of the two, Josh, says. “I believe he bathes at present.”

Liam sighs, letting out near all the air from his lungs in happiness. “Thank Zeus. Can you send for Jade for me?”

Both men bow and then Josh disappears off. Liam scrubs a hand over his face, feeling foolish and ridiculous because _of course_ Zayn would simply be bathing or perhaps even catching the early light on canvas in his studio. It is not the first morning he has woken up without Zayn by his side, of course, but it is the first since his nightmares began.

Jade appears at the top of the corridor, head bowed as she approaches Liam. “Morning, my lord.”

“Morning, Jade. I wish to bathe; is Zayn still in there?”

“I believe so, my lord; he has only been bathing a few minutes or so. Do you wish to wait for a fresh one?”

Liam shakes his head. “I shall join Zayn. May you prepare us both a breakfast for when we emerge?”

“Of course, my lord. Perrie is in the bathing room already, she will assist you.”

Liam nods and dismisses her before he heads down to the bathing room. He opens the door and Perrie bows her head from where she’s folding Zayn’s clothes on the bench. Zayn is spread out in the water with his eyes closed but he opens them when he hears Liam enter, a soft smile tracing his perfect features.

“ _Agapi mou,”_ Liam says with a shake of his head. “You were not there when I woke and I was panicked.” He pulls his tunic over his head and then slides into the heated pool. Zayn moves through the water and glides into Liam’s arms, both his own arms wrapping around Liam’s shoulders as he shakes his head.

“I thought not, I was foolish,” he murmurs. “But I knew if I stayed lying there awake then my mind would run wild and I had to leave; I am so sorry, _psihi mou.”_

“Why would your mind run wild, my love? What troubles you?” Liam asks, pulling back to cup Zayn’s face.

“If you are troubled then so am I,” Zayn sighs exasperatedly. “By the gods, Liam, you have cried once since I have known you and that was for the death of your father and yesterday you woke in tears. I am not foolish. I know that these nightmares have not stemmed from nothing. I just want to know what has happened and why it has troubled you to this so I can share the burden.”

Liam sighs and kisses Zayn’s forehead. “Perrie, please leave us.”

He thinks he hears Perrie murmur as “yes, my lord” but Zayn’s hands are sliding up and down his back and he can only focus on how overwhelming his love for his husband is in this moment, how much it hurts him that his own stupidity is hurting Zayn. _He_ is the fool.

“If I tell you what happened at council that day, you promise me two things,” he says, looking Zayn straight in the eyes. “The first is that you understand I did not tell you because I didn’t want to unnerve you or bring you unnecessary fears because at present all I have heard is rumours. The second is that you know that I love with you with my whole heart, my whole existence, and if someone is to try and take you they shall have to do it over my corpse.”

“Liam, do not say things like that,” Zayn pleads, having gone rigid in Liam’s arms. “But am I in danger?”

“I do not wish to confirm or deny,” Liam says mournfully, “because all we have heard is rumours. That was the matter of which Louis wished to speak of that morning and then when we got to council the rumours were addressed.”

“What is the nature of these rumours?” Zayn whispers, his nails digging harshly into Liam’s sides. “Does somebody want me dead?”

Liam shakes his head hurriedly. “No, by the gods, no. If that were the case then I would not be this calm.”

“Then what of these rumours?” Zayn says, shaking at Liam’s sides. “Liam, tell me, who threatens me?”

“The rumours speak of Paris thinking he has rightful claim to you,” Liam says sadly. “Rightful claim like you are a piece to be taken, a prize to be won…”

“Which I was,” Zayn points out, shaking his head in Liam’s hands. “But I am not his. I am forever yours, Liam, and I would be with or without a contest to prove.”

“I would be yours the same,” Liam promises, pulling Zayn into him and hooking his chin over his shoulder. “He will not touch you; _oipho,_ he will not be within a hundred steps of you while I am around, I swear I will not let him.”

“But these are just rumours, yes?”

“I have not been told what he is planning, just that it might be something,” Liam explains. “I did not want to worry you, hence why I kept quiet.”

“And you dream of me being taken every night? That is what has plagued you these last fourteen moons?”

Liam nods. “The same each time. I come home and the house is in ruins, the slaves lay dead and you are gone. The very thought makes me feel close to vomiting…”

“Liam, my love, you are so worked up,” Zayn says, sitting them down on the marble step under the water and pulling Liam flush to his chest. “You have let this crawl far too deep under your skin by not voicing it.”

“Your face the day I came home and told you your name had been passed around at council though,” Liam argues, pressing his nose against Zayn’s cheek. “You were so upset and I did not want to add fuel to your fire.”

“I do not like to be spoken ill of,” Zayn says, “but I would like to have known that this threat was looming earlier, perhaps.”

“You do not seem fearful, _agapi mou,”_ Liam notes. Zayn shrugs.

“It is unpleasant to hear but I feel I have nothing to fear yet. For one, it is but a rumour. Second, I trust you with my life. I know you will sort me the protection if that is what it comes down to and I know that it will not be easy for Paris simply to take me if that is what he wills. My love,” he says softly, stroking at Liam’s damp curls. “Liam, it’s going to be okay.”

“I love you,” Liam croaks, turning over to pull Zayn into a long, hard kiss. “You are the voice of reason in my ear.”

“I love you,” Zayn says back, hands now slicking back Liam’s hair. “And you would look handsome with your hair like this, I think.”

Liam pouts at him, tugging his curls back forward. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Perhaps,” Zayn grins. “Although if I was really trying to distract you I would do so like this.”

He slides his hand down Liam’s torso and wraps a tight hand around his flaccid cock, stroking him gently with the same sparkles in his eyes as he had the first day. Liam groans out a weak protest, leaning his head back against Zayn’s shoulder as he feels himself harden in Zayn’s palm. He lets himself be held and stroked until he’s hard and leaking into the water, then Zayn lets go to change their position, spinning them around in the water and hoisting Liam up so it’s he who is sat on the stair and he can stand between the V of his legs.

He grips Liam again in one hand, winding the other around Liam’s neck for a kiss. Liam kisses back, opening his mouth and letting Zayn’s tongue swipe around the inside of his mouth, filthy yet gentle. Liam’s own hands come to grip at Zayn’s hips and he tugs him close, grinding his hips upwards towards Zayn’s semi. Zayn gasps, breaking the kiss and stares down at him, eyes wide and expression questioning, like he’s waiting for Liam to make the next move.

“I want you in our bed,” Liam gasps out. “I wish to lick you open, make you come that way.”

Zayn whimpers, nodding his head frantically only to be cut off by Liam kissing him hard again. They break apart again, panting, before Liam stands up. His fingers are still digging into Zayn’s hips and his breaths are coming out short and Zayn looks just _beautiful_ in his arms, eyes wide and cock half-hard, waiting for Liam’s next move.

They both stumble out of the pool, grabbing for their drying fabrics and wrapping them around their waists. Liam is impatient and grabs Zayn around the waist again, hoisting him up for him to wrap his legs around his middle. Zayn squawks like he wasn’t expecting it and clings to Liam’s shoulders, eventually crossing his ankles behind Liam’s back to support himself, sighing into Liam’s mouth frustratedly once they’re both steady.

“Must you manhandle me so?”

“Do not pretend you do not love it,” Liam grins, kissing him again quickly as he marches them towards the door and down the corridor to their chambers. Josh winks at them as they pass and Liam can’t help but snort because they must look a sight, both flushed, obviously very turned on and naked with their drying fabrics trailing across the floor in a tangled heap.

They get into the bedroom and Liam falls forwards onto the bed, careful to avoid head-butting Zayn as his head lands softly on the pillow. There’s a smile of his radiant face as Liam kisses him again, soft and slow and so full of love for his husband it’s near absurd.

“I can’t wait to taste you on my tongue,” Liam says, rubbing the heel of his palm over Zayn’s bulge underneath his drying fabric. Zayn whines and thrusts his hips up, meeting Liam’s hand motions. Liam sucks a bruise into Zayn’s neck and then trails kisses down his lover’s torso, biting hard on a nipple and making Zayn cry out.

“Liam,” he groans, hands gripping Liam’s hair. “This was meant to be a distraction for you.”

“Your body is a distraction in itself,” Liam murmurs, hands sliding down to remove the fabric wrapped around Zayn’s waist. “This is when you are at your most beautiful, you know. Freshly washed, spread out on our sheets just for me, just for me to touch and taste. Is that what you want, _agapi mou?”_

“Yes, Liam, _yes,”_ Zayn groans, spreading his legs further apart and squirming as Liam’s hot breath brushes over his hole. Liam gets rid of the fabric around his waist, all the while pressing feather-light kisses into Zayn’s skin, never quite touching where he’s aching to be touched.

“By the gods, Liam, you will make me mad if you do not do as you promise, I swear it,” Zayn snaps, though there’s no real anger behind it as his breathing is ragged and his face sweaty and desperate. Liam nuzzles at his crotch, leaving open-mouthed kisses all along his shaft, his balls and his perineum before he finally returns his attention to where Zayn most wants it.

Liam’s hands cup both of Zayn’s arsecheeks and he digs his nails in as he flicks his tongue out for the first time, dragging it slowly across Zayn’s hole. Zayn moans out loudly, shuffling forward as best he can to drape his legs over Liam’s shoulders to grant him better access. Liam slides his hands down to grip Zayn’s thighs and pushes his face in deeper, moaning around Zayn’s entrance as he flicks his tongue out.

Liam _loves_ this; the musky taste of Zayn himself mixed in with his favourite scents from bathing, the way his thighs feel around his head, the way he squirms and moans and tugs at Liam’s hair and cries out Liam’s name has him rutting against the mattress as he places open-mouthed kiss after open-mouthed kiss against his rim, drawing his thighs tighter around him.

“Liam, _oipho,_ Liam, baby,” Zayn groans out, giving a particularly harsh tug on Liam’s curls. “Liam, roll us around, god, _fuck, Liam,_ roll us around so I can have you in my mouth also.”

Liam pulls off, his face wet from his own spit. He shuffles up, kissing him with all his might. It’s filthy and sopping wet and it doesn’t last long because Zayn starts whimpering, pushing him away with his hands on both shoulders.

“Liam, I shall come if you don’t slow down,” he groans. “Roll us over.”

Liam complies, gripping Zayn’s hips tightly as he rolls onto his back and pulls Zayn on top of him. His hips almost instinctively fuck upwards in search of friction against Zayn’s and Zayn groans again, kissing him closed-mouth and hard before he clumsily climbs up Liam’s lying frame and perches his arse over Liam’s mouth.

Liam doesn’t give him time to balance himself, just flicks his tongue straight back out and into the hole, breaching the muscle and licking into the velvety hotness of Zayn’s walls. Zayn keens and topples forward unceremoniously, groaning loudly. Liam smirks, shifting him back so he’s straight and licking at him again.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxes, voice deep and rough. He places another sloppy kiss across Zayn’s rim. “Put your mouth on me also.”

Zayn huffs out a breath as if to catch his senses for a second before he wraps a hand slowly around the base of Liam’s stiff dick. He runs his tongue around the head, collecting the precum on his tongue and moaning at the taste. He slowly sucks the head into his mouth before taking him down about a third, humming around the length in that way that Liam loves.

Liam bites down on one of Zayn’s arsecheeks as sensation washes over his, his eyes almost rolling back at how glorious it feels to have some relief on his achingly hard cock. He flicks his tongue out again but Zayn does the same, licking a fat strip up the entire of Liam’s length before taking him down again and Liam is near seeing stars.

Hand working what his mouth can’t get to from this angle, Zayn begins to speed up his efforts, hips humping down onto Liam’s mouth almost in time with them as he chases his pleasure. Liam tries to work back but he’s so turned on by Zayn’s mouth on him that he can’t do much more than lap around the area messily.

Two dry fingertips press hard on his hole and his back arches off the bed, nearly knocking Zayn off him. Zayn groans but continues to slurp up and down, shifting his hips so he’s balanced back on Liam’s face. A few particularly skilled flicks of Zayn’s wrist has Liam coming with a strangled cry, head lolling back against the pillows and dislodging Zayn’s balance once more as his hands leave their supportive place on Zayn’s hips to fist in the sheets.

Zayn whines loudly as Liam’s cum streaks his face, hands digging into Liam’s thighs to keep him supported. He’s still so hard, practically trembling with the need to come. It takes Liam a second to register this, his ragged breaths drowning out Zayn’s needy whimpers. It’s only when he feels Zayn literally start to hump his face that he twigs, opening his mouth again and sucking _hard._

Zayn practically yells, fingernails digging in even deeper to Liam’s thighs as he chases his pleasure. Liam sits up and gently pushes Zayn forward a little so he can get deeper, lapping and kissing and biting until Zayn’s coming with a shout all over his chest.

He lets Liam easily slide him forward, manoeuvring his leg so he’s lying on his side with his head resting on Liam’s knee. They’re both sticky, sweaty and covered in cum but Liam doesn’t want to move, feeling rather bad that he’s going to have to ask Perrie to heat them up water for a second bath.

“You dropped me,” Zayn pants into Liam’s calf. He lifts his head and pouts at Liam, eyelashes blinking rapidly against his cheek. “You nearly threw me from the bed, you brute.”

Liam smooths a hand down Zayn’s leg in what he hopes is an apologetic manner. “Sorry, sorry, _agapi mou._ You made me feel so good I could not help it.”

“A feeble excuse,” Zayn says, though he’s grinning. He shuffles around so he’s laying the right way up to face Liam, nuzzling his sweaty face into Liam’s neck. “And we need to bathe again if we are both to be seen in public today.”

“Whoops,” Liam says sheepishly, turning his head to kiss Zayn softly between the eyes. “Are you to tell Perrie or am I?”

“I already asked her to prepare a bath for me today. So you.”

Liam groans. “Fine,” he says with an exaggerated sigh, pulling himself into a reluctant seating position before shuffling off the bed and walking to ring the bell by the door. He picks up his discarded drying fabric and wraps it across his shoulders just in time to hide the drying cum stain on his chest when Perrie bustles in.

“My sincerest apologies, Perrie, but may you prepare us another bath? I fear we may have gotten a little, um…”

“Distracted,” Zayn calls from the bed. Liam snorts.

“Yes, distracted. Will you heat us more water?”

“Yes, my lords,” she says with a brief smirk. “Shall I ask Jade to fetch you breakfast while you wait?”

“If you please,” Liam says. Perrie bows and exits and Liam strolls back over to the bed where Zayn is looking very pleased with himself, despite the fact he has cum in his hair.

“You have my seed in your hair,” Liam tells him. Zayn looks annoyed for a split second before he shrugs, rolling onto his side and draping an arm over Liam’s waist.

“I shall sort it when we bathe. Until then all I care for is to see your smile.”

Liam does smile, hand coming up to stroke at Zayn’s ever growing hair. “You serve as a menacing distraction, _agapi mou.”_

“There’s my smile,” Zayn grins back, leaning forward for a kiss. “As long as I have my smile I do not think we have much else to worry about.”

“Zayn…” Liam starts but Zayn just kisses him again, slow and loving, and Liam is only human, after all.

Their breakfast is brought to them after a time and Liam lets himself forget, lets Zayn curl up against his chest and spill breadcrumbs everywhere and kiss him tasting like the fine wine they washed it down with. They head for their second bath soon after and Zayn washes his hair for him, nimble fingers scratching and soothing through his curls.

They pull themselves out of the warm water for the second time and go back to their chambers to find their bed turned down and their clothes for the day laid out and ready. Liam dresses with a smirk and his back turned because he’s already late and he knows that watching Zayn (especially when Zayn is in this mood) will not hurry them along.

He waits patiently for Zayn to apply his eyeliner and put on his rings and necklaces before he takes his hand, leading them down their hallway towards his study. His dressing slave approaches him but Liam waves him away for now, instead turning to cup Zayn’s face in his hands.

“I am loathed to leave you, but I fear I must,” he murmurs. “I shall only tell Louis that you know of the rumours but none of the other foul dogs at council. When the ghastly meeting is finished I shall come for you and we shall go to the market, followed by supper by the river.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Zayn smiles back, kissing Liam briefly. “Does Louis wait in your study?”

“I believe so. Harry?” he calls. He’s met with nothing, not even the sound of footsteps. “Harry?” he shouts again. “Harry, where are you, lad?”

There’s a crash, a muffled curse and then the study door opens, Harry hurrying out of it with his head bowed. His lips are puffy and his hair a mess and he’s full of frantic apologies. “My lord, I am sorry, my lord, I was, um, attending to General Louis’s needs in your study.”

“I am certain you were,” Liam smirks, eyes drifting to the noticeable bulge under Harry’s tunic. “This answers my question of whether Louis had arrived. May you fetch us some wine?”

Harry nods, hurrying out of there and towards the kitchens. Zayn giggles into Liam’s shoulder and Liam raises both eyebrows as he watches Harry through the window where he’s pushing the heel of his hand into his crotch and combing through his unruly hair with the other.

“That was… unexpected,” Zayn laughs.

Liam shakes his head. “Louis has been making comments on Harry’s looks and manner for a few days now. He seems rather infatuated.” With that, he opens the door to see Louis, hair also out of sorts and trying in vain to re-clip his sheath to his belt.

“Louis, brother!”

Louis drops the sword onto one of the plush couches and holds out his arms for Liam to embrace him, his happy laugh sounding as he grips back.

“And Zayn, a pleasure to see you and the way you put a smile on Liam’s face once more,” Louis says, taking both his hands and squeezing. Zayn grins and Liam slips an arm around his waist.

“I try,” he says, leaning into Liam’s body. “The world seems darker if this one is not smiling.”

“Absolutely disgusting,” Louis says, wrinkling his nose as Liam giggles and shrugs. “You’ll never find me falling in love like this, it’s too sickening. Nobody on this earth is worth making such a sappy fool of myself over.”

There’s a nervous cough from the door and Harry stands there, a tray of wine and goblets in his hands, head bowed. “Here is your wine, my lords. Do you need anything else?” Both his hands and his voice are shaking as he places the tray on the table in the centre of the couches and Liam’s barely voiced his “no, thank you” before Harry’s legging it out of there.

Louis looks panicked for a few seconds before he catches himself, turning back to Liam and Zayn with a slightly pained looking smile. “Anyway, we have business to discuss,” he bristles before Liam can open his mouth and challenge either man’s behaviour.

Zayn opens his mouth to say something but Liam beats him to it. “I have told him,” he says softly, squeezing his hand. “He knows there is a threat.”

“And how do you feel about this, Zayn?” Louis asks, taking the jug of wine and pouring himself a cup. “Do you wish for us to sort out extra security or…?”

Zayn’s eyes go wide. “What? No, no, I don’t wish that. In fact, I just wish to not dwell.”

Liam tightens his grip on Zayn and Louis just stares, confused. “You, um, what?”

“Liam told me of them last night and I have had time to think. Added security will simply stress Liam out and at present all we know of is rumours. Therefore I wish not to make a fuss. So no extra security, understand?”

“And if something does turn out to come from these rumours? Then what?”

Zayn chances a snort of laughter, free hand curling over his and Liam’s already tightly-linked ones. “You and I both know Liam well enough to know that if something were to happen he would deal with it himself. He is fiercely loyal and protective and I know he will be both those things to me and maybe even better than extra protection. If it turns out that the rumours hold truth then we can perhaps then look into it but until then the answer stays no. I do not wish to make either of us a laughing stock.”

Louis nods. “All fair points. Alright, then there are to be no extra measures as of yet.”

Zayn nods and brings Liam’s hand to his lips, kissing it softly. “Thank you for understanding, both of you.”

Louis shakes his head before he drains his goblet. “Do not mention it. It feels likely that Paris is all talk and no action. He is a fool if ever Greece knew one.”

“Not to mention he is not best liked even in his own Troy,” Liam adds. “I heard news that his favour with the gods is so poor that he often finds himself in times of trouble. If he were to act now not only would he lose what little favour he had left with your father, but possibly also his favour with his people.”

“He has gold though,” Louis points out. “A lot of gold. He resides in the third largest palace in Troy.”

“Money cannot buy him what he wants,” Zayn says, curling closer to Liam. “If what he wants is me, that is.”

Louis sighs. “I still struggle to see what his logic in wanting to take you, Zayn. Why pick at old wounds?”

“Paris dislikes me intensely and he has never been the most logical of men,” Liam says. “If he were then perhaps he would not have spoken back to a Son of Zeus at their first time meeting.”

“Still wouldn’t have changed my decision, it is not hard to tell the man is detestable,” Zayn mumbles into Liam’s shoulder. Liam nods, kissing the crown of his head.

“I know, my love,” he promises. “Even more reasoning to suggest Paris is a fool. He clearly knows nothing of true love if he thinks he can snatch yours.”

“Disgusting,” Louis snips again, though with less sting than last time. “Liam, shall we head to council soon?”

“Oh, must we?” Liam sighs reluctantly. Zayn kisses him, a lingering press of lips that makes never fails to make Liam’s head spin, even in such a short space of time.

“Make it short?” he asks, brushing Liam’s hair from his eyes again. “I am excited for the market.”

“I will try my best, _agapi mou,”_ Liam assures, kissing him again. He stands up and calls for Harry. “Fetch Louis his cloak and can you call for Aiden to dress me?”

Harry bows his acknowledgement and ducks out, eyes purposely look anywhere but Louis. Louis sighs.

“I fear I opened my mouth at a bad time,” he says forlornly. Liam simply claps him on the shoulder, walking through into the hallway.

He holds out his arms and lets himself be dressed up with his armour and weapons. He then takes his newly polished helmet from Aiden and tucks it under his arm. “Many thanks, Aiden. You may go.”

Aiden scurries away and Liam turns to Louis, who stands almost rigid as Harry’s fingers clip his cloak to his shoulders. “All ready, my lord,” he mumbles, smoothing it down Louis’s back before he realises what he’s doing and takes a step back, face burning.

“Harry…” Louis starts but hurries into the study, returning a few seconds later with the tray of drinks and cups before disappearing down towards the kitchens. Liam sighs and Louis groans. “Let us leave, Liam.”

Liam kisses Zayn one final time before he and Louis head out the house, starting the short walk to council.

“So you are lying with a servant of mine?” Liam asks bluntly. Louis’s face burns red as Harry’s had.

“We have not… we are not _yet_ lying together, but now I fear I have destroyed any chance of that,” he groans. “I hadn’t been able to shift him from my mind from that first day and now I fear I am wrongly infatuated.”

“Wrongly infatuated?” Liam asks, confused. “But you care for him?”

Louis pauses but eventually nods. “He is unlike any other I have met. And his kisses leave me wanting and they make my heart flutter like no others’ have.”

 

“Brother,” Liam grins, elbowing him in the ribs playfully. “You are falling for him, it seems. This does not sound wrong at all to me.”

Louis groans. “I do not wish to let myself. Imagine if I loved a slave, my father would never allow a union between us.” He elbows Louis back. “And anyway, you are meant to tell me to back off and not to break your loyal slave’s heart.”

“Louis, I am not going to tell you that. I want everyone to be as in love as I am and you sound like you could be getting there with him.”

“Not anymore,” Louis grunts. “I spoke words that hurt him.”

“Only because you wished to make a playful game of Zayn and I. Perhaps if you speak with him tonight then he will come around.”

“Only… only if you are definitely okay with me pursuing him,” Louis says after a few moments of silence. “I do not wish to offend your house.”

“Harry has been with my family since I was a boy. He is one of my favourite slaves and I wish him happiness. If you can bring him that happiness and he can return it to you then it is not my place to stop him. Rank should not stop true love if it is true enough.”

“Somebody tell that to my father,” Louis mutters as they enter into the council room.

Council feels long and pointless as the King and his speaker, Paul, chat on about taxes and slave selling. It’s only towards the end when Zayn is mentioned.

“And Liam? Any more news from Troy?”

Liam stands. “None, my king. I have spoken with Zayn on the matter and we are just going to continue as if no threat was made until either more information is sent to us or the mutterings stop.”

“That is a fair decision,” the King nods. “If no more word comes in the next two months then let us dismiss them as pure rumours.”

“Thank you for your understanding, my liege,” Liam says with a small bow. The King nods and then dismisses the council, though he signals for Liam to come speak with him.

“Liam,” he says as everyone, including a reluctant Louis, trails from the room. “Liam, are you sure it is wise to not act at all? I respect your judgment but I just wish to know your reasoning for myself.”

“It was not my reasoning, but Zayn’s,” Liam explains. “He is quite, um… _touchy_ about people trying to treat him differently because of his lineage and he feels that extra security is not necessary if the threat is not yet confirmed. Between you and I, sir, he does not wish to be seen as a joke.”

Anaxidamus looks surprised. “Why would he be a joke? He is one of our most important citizens.”

“He was sad to hear that rumours had been spoken of him in the first place,” Liam says, fingers suddenly itching to hold Zayn’s hand. “And he feels he is not important for who he is now but simply because the city wants to keep favour with Zeus.”

“Liam, you are perhaps my most valued general. He is important because he makes you happy and because he is a good citizen. Yes, I cannot lie that his lineage and the fact that you strive to keep him happy does keep us in good standing but even if he were not Zeus’s son, he would still be your husband. Would I value my wife more if she were the daughter of a goddess? I would hope not; I hope I would still treat her as one regardless. That’s called being in love.”

Liam smiles softly. “That is reassuring to hear.”

“I am worried, however, that Paris keeps spies in the city. If you take Zayn anywhere these next few weeks make sure you have guards with you. Your most trusted. But also it might put you in good standing to act like you are unbelieving of his threats. Show you are not scared. Come to the palace often to show you have powerful allies. Even if the threats are untrue then you are still both more than welcome.”

“It is nice to know we have your support, my lord,” Liam says, taking his hand and kissing it gratefully. “I shall return to Zayn now, I think. We are going to the market today and then I have taking him for dinner by the river. It is exactly two years since our first meeting.”

“My sincerest congratulations,” Anaxidamus beams. “Give him my grandest wishes. Have a good day and I shall send messengers to you inviting you for supper one night soon.”

“Thank you most genuinely,” Liam says, bowing and picking up his helmet. He exits the building and finds Louis waiting for him, kicking a rock between his feet.

“What was that about?” he asks.

“Just wanted to make sure that he wanted Zayn safe and whether not asking for extra protection is right for him,” Liam explains as they set off. “Also we are to eat supper with him soon. He is a good man, our king.”

“That I know,” Louis agrees. He sighs. “Can I, um, may I ask a favour of you, brother?”

“Anything.”

“May you speak with Harry?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I fear he may not wish to listen to what I have to say but he has no choice but to listen to you.”

“He must hear what I tell him, yes, but it does not follow that he will listen,” Liam says. “But yes, I will speak with him, brother.”

“You are a true friend,” Louis says, smiling softly. “Are we still to meet the day after tomorrow?”

“If that still suits you. Tomorrow I am taking the day off with Zayn so I will be well-rested.”

Louis snorts. “Well-rested. You mean well-fucked. I can already guess what any day off for you two entails.”

“It is not my fault that this date is two years on from our first day of meeting,” Liam says with a playful pout. “Maybe once Harry sees the truth of your feelings then you can celebrate the same.”

“What am I doing?” Louis says forlornly. He stops just outside Liam’s house and leans against his wall, head in his hands. “My head says no yet my heart says yes. I have been in his company for so little time but I really care for him, Liam. Why is this?”

Liam puts a hand on his shoulder. “It is called falling in love, brother. I know the feeling well. If it is your father that stops you then you must think of whether his approval is more important to your happiness over the love you and Harry could share. Have a think but I will steal speak to him for you.”

“My father is not a kind man, Liam,” Louis says, hiding his face in his hands. “He does not take kindly to men being with other men, let alone the possibility that his eldest son may be that way inclined. He is old-fashioned and a firm believer in ranks. I fear I do not wish to put myself through the peril of disappointing him more.”

“You do not even need to tell him yet,” Liam points out. “See where it takes you. I promise you it is worth it.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, just nods his head and lets Liam pull him into a hug. They squeeze hands tightly as they part and then Liam heads back into his home, nodding his hellos to the guards and slaves tending the garden.

“Zayn?” he calls when he gets inside. “Harry?”

Harry appears almost immediately, head bowed and still seemingly embarrassed from this morning.

“My lord,” he mumbles.

“Harry, I wish to speak with you in my study a moment. Will you fetch Aiden to undress me and then meet me there in five minutes?”

Harry looks a combination of terrified and confused as he nods, hurrying down the corridor to get Aiden. Aiden hurries down, relieving Liam of his cloak, belt, armour and helmet. He dismisses him and then enters his study, where Harry is waiting with his head bowed and hands clasped in front of him, looking marginally terrified.

Liam clears his throat. “Harry, you have been with me for the duration of both our lives. You are a loyal and trustworthy slave and I appreciate all you do for me and my household.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Harry croaks nervously.

“Harry, look at me,” Liam coaxes. Harry looks up slowly. “It seems you have also stolen the heart of my best friend,” he says with a small smile.

Harry’s eyes go wide and he coughs. “I, um, I, well, we have… my apologies, my lord, I, we…”

“Harry, I hold no anger with you,” Liam interrupts. Harry shuts up, mouth slamming closed almost comically. “However, I am just interested to know your feelings.”

“My feelings?” Harry squeaks. Liam nods encouragingly. “I, um, well, I fear my feelings do not matter much, my lord. I do not wish to speak ill of your best friend.”

“Let us speak now as two equals,” Liam muses, encouraging Harry to sit on the couch opposite him. “If it were permitted, would you pursue him?”

Harry looks at the floor. “Perhaps, my lord, but this morning he made it clear that he did not hold me as dear as I thought he did. I fear I have been foolish because I do not know what I expected. I am but a slave and he is right to freely have his pick of all the men in the city. I wish not to sound bitter but it is the truth, my lord.”

“I feel it is Louis here who is the fool,” Liam says.  “Louis’s words were meant as a joke towards Zayn and myself. They were never meant for your ears and were never meant to offend you.” He grins. “I think Louis would very much like to let himself fall for you but he is scared.”

“Is it…” Harry hesitates. “Is it because I am a slave?”

Liam nods sadly. “In part, yes, I’m afraid. He has a… a turbulent relationship with his father at best and his father is a stickler for ranks and traditions. Louis is not but I think he is finding the choice between head and heart a difficult one.”

“I understand if he thinks I am not worth it,” Harry mumbles. Liam shakes his head hurriedly.

“I will not hear you put yourself down, Harry,” he says. “If Louis is the one to make you happy and to hold your heart then who cares about rank?”

“I care for him a lot,” Harry admits. “I am just fearful that I will be dropped like a stone because he will tire of me. It is… it is difficult to be told you are below people and I know it is nobody’s fault or choice and it is what the gods choose for us but I do not want to let myself develop feelings if I am going to be hurt. I’m sorry if it seems like I am asking too much from this, my lord, but…”

“You do not deserve to be hurt,” Liam says firmly. “I do not wish you hurt, Harry. I wish for you and Louis to talk, however. If he comes here the day after tomorrow, will you speak with him?”

“I’d… I’d like to,” Harry says with a small, gracious smile. “You are a very kind and understanding master, my lord. I am very grateful to be in your household.”

“I am grateful to have such a loyal slave as yourself,” Liam says, standing up and holding out his hand to squeeze Harry’s. “I know there would be few masters who would be willing to let their slave do much more than lie with their friend but I am not one for standing in the way of happiness. If you and Louis do wish to be together then I will let you go to him, and that is my promise.”

“My lord,” Harry says, his free hand flying up to cover his mouth. “My lord, I could not ask…”

“Nonsense,” Liam waves him aside. “We shall speak more of it if the times comes, yes?”

Harry nods, looking very dumbfounded.

“Until then, can you please tell me where Zayn is?”

“I believe he naps in your chambers, my lord,” Harry says, letting go of Liam’s hand.

“Very well. Will you ask the kitchen maidens to start preparing our foods for when we return from the market? Chicken and fruits, breads and wine should do us very well.”

“Of course, my lord,” Harry says, bowing as he exits the room. Liam watches him go, grinning to himself, before he makes his way towards his chambers.

Zayn lies in their bed, shirtless and his face lax. The sheets are pooled around his waist and he’s snoring softly and Liam isn’t sure he’s ever seen anything so beautiful.

He softly treads over there and sits himself on the edge of the bed, tracing his fingertips lightly across Zayn’s slightly sweaty back. Zayn doesn’t stir just yet and Liam just watches with an overwhelming sense of fond. He’s tempted to pull his tunic off and slide under the sheets next to him but he knows how upset with him Zayn will be if they miss the market so he presses his lips into Zayn’s forehead gently, shaking his shoulder gently.

“Zayn. Zayn, _agapi mou,”_ he murmurs. Zayn’s eyes stay shut but his mouth curves into a smile and he leans happily into Liam’s touch, letting out a contended sigh.

“ _Psihi mou,”_ he murmurs softly, rolling onto his side so he’s almost curling around Liam. “I missed you.”

“I was gone for two hours,” Liam says, but he’s smiling as he says it.

“Were it down to me you would never leave my side,” Zayn grins, eyes fluttering open. “How was your time at council?”

“Boring,” Liam shrugs. “The king sends his regards however. Wants us to dine with him soon."

“How kind of him,” Zayn says, pushing himself back to sit up. He leans forward and lies into Liam’s chest. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Liam echoes. “I have loved you every single day these past two years and I shall love you for the rest of them. You are the greatest part of my life.”

“And you mine,” Zayn says, pulling back and tugging Liam in for a kiss by the neck of his tunic. “My beautiful husband.”

“I am having the kitchen prepare all your favourites for our meal tonight,” Liam says, nuzzling into Zayn’s neck. “Do you still wish to go to the market?”

“Please,” Zayn says, yawning over Liam’s shoulder. “I shall dress and we can go soon.”

Liam kisses him again and then moves back so he can shuffle off the mattress. He pulls on his robes again from earlier, quickly spritzes himself in fine perfume and then hurriedly chews some mint leaves before they head out hand in hand.

The market is a favourite place for both of them. Zayn loves it because he loves seeing the different people, smelling the different foods and wines and incenses and hearing different snippets of conversation. Liam loves it because it’s something he’s loved since (and also takes him back to) when he was a boy, begging his father for a few coins so he could buy freshly roasted meats or baked cakes to eat under the midday sun while his parents bought foods, wine, fabrics and sometimes even slaves.

It was just the most vibrant place in Sparta, Liam thought, for where else could you see all walks of life in one place. The only part of it they mostly wished to avoid was the slave stall, for seeing several men and women not much younger than themselves chained up and sometimes hit if they did not cooperate with the slave-master’s instructions was not an easy sight.

(Liam knows that if it were down to Zayn, they would have bought every single slave from there months ago. He would too, only he knows they do not have the resources nor the vacancies to house them all. His earlier conversation with Harry about feeling less than others rings in his ears as they hurry past and he cringes internally, hand gripping Zayn’s all the tighter as he tries not to feel guilty for no reason.)

Zayn tugs him eagerly towards one of the art stalls, looking through the various colour powders and dyes before selecting a few to purchase. Liam pays up and Zayn kisses his cheek, making the man selling wrinkle his nose. His wife slaps him on the belly and grins as she hands over their purchases.

“We were young and in love once,” she grins. Her husband rolls his eyes fondly at her. “You two are famous for being the soundest couple in all our city walls. It’s very nice to have seen it in person, my lords.”

“You are most kind,” Liam says, tipping her an extra coin. “We do pride ourselves in such a matter.”

The woman smiles and waves them off as they head to the next stall to purchase Zayn some new paintbrushes. After purchasing those and the biggest of Zayn’s favourite lemon cakes that the baker is selling, they head back to their house flagged by their guards before they prepare to head down towards the river.

They spread sheets across the grass and Zayn settles in between Liam’s legs as Harry and Perrie serve their chicken and bread onto plates for them. They end up staying there until the sun starts to set, finishing up their feast with lemon cake, grapes and oranges as their slaves wash their plates in the river water and their guards move down to give them some privacy.

“These are my most favourite days, when they’re just about us being together,” Liam murmurs into Zayn’s ear. Zayn hums happily, wrapping Liam’s arms around his shoulder and sliding their hands together to rest on his chest.

“I cannot believe we have known each other for two full years,” he muses. “I feel as if we have been married and together forever.”

“That is because we have the rest of forever together, _agapi mou,”_ Liam smiles happily. “Our minds have prepared us for my terrible fate of looking at your face all day every day until my life comes to an end.”

“I know nothing would make you happier, Liam, you are a terrible liar,” Zayn scoffs playfully. “You love me more than the sun loves the moon and Poseidon loves the sea.”

“ _Oipho,_ you have caught me,” Liam says, pressing his smile into the back of Zayn’s neck. “But I feel you love me the very same.”

“Possibly even more than that,” Zayn says. He wriggles around in Liam’s lap so they’re facing each other, each of Zayn’s legs bracketing himself around Liam’s waist. “ _Psihi mou.”_

“I have a gift for you,” Liam murmurs. “It is not much but I hope you will like it enough to wear them.”

“A gift?” Zayn’s face lights up. “For me? Let me have it!”

Liam signals to Harry, who goes to retrieve the small burlap bag from one of the guards. He hands it over to Zayn shyly and Zayn squeals happily before he unties the bag and lets it fall open in his palm.

Inside are two simple silver earrings, small round hoops with little intricate clasps at the back to keep them clipped in place. Zayn gasps, his teeth clamping down on his bottom lip as he gazes at Liam with supernovas in his eyes.

“These are the ones that we saw in Thebes when we visited my mother,” he says in awe. “How did you…? You sent someone back to Thebes for me?”

“You are worth a hundred trips to Thebes,” Liam says. “ _Oipho,_ if you wanted me to make constant trips to and from Thebes for the rest of my days I would.”

“You are incredible,” Zayn whispers, hands going to his ears to remove the silver studs he’s currently wearing. “But I don’t wish you to make constant trips to Thebes. I wish for you to be with me in Sparta always.”

“That I can do,” Liam says, his lips finding Zayn’s easily. “Aren’t you glad we are rich enough to send people for us?” Zayn laughs and breaks the kiss for a second to place the earrings safely on the floor and then wraps his arms around Liam’s neck, kissing him long and languid.

“I fear my gift for you is complete tripe in comparison,” he says onto Liam’s lips. “It is for you to unveil when we return home but by the gods, Liam, you sent a man to Thebes for a pair of earrings, I cannot possibly compete.”

“Just having you to call my own is enough, I swear it,” Liam says. They kiss again happily before Zayn pulls back, hands finding the earrings again.

“Put them in for me?”

Liam’s fingers are not as deft as Zayn’s artistic ones but after a little fumbling and with Zayn’s eventual help he manages to clip them into place. Zayn’s hands go to his earlobes and he grins, scrunching up his nose proudly as Liam smiles at him like he’s the only person in the world.

“May we go home?” Zayn murmurs. “I wish to have you inside me.”

Liam nods hurriedly, a dopey smile spreading across his face. Zayn shuffles off him and stands, holding his hand down to help Liam stand. Liam steadies himself and calls the slaves over, wrapping an arm around Zayn’s waist and pulling him close.

The walk home feels too short and too long all at once. Zayn is practically skipping, both hands gripping tightly at one of Liam’s larger ones as he sings.  Liam’s smile seems permanently plastered to his face when Zayn sings because it is a sound like he has never heard. Zayn is currently singing a love ballad that Liam isn’t really familiar with but he understands the notions that Zayn sings about – he does agree that not even the gods above could separate them, he’s sure of it.

They get back to their house but instead of dragging him towards the bedroom, Zayn takes his hand and leads him towards his studio. There’s an easel in the centre with a sheet covering whatever is underneath it and Zayn sighs, taking both Liam’s hand in his and squeezing.

“This is nothing that can compare with what you provide me with every single day,” he says. “You protect me, you care for me and you love me like no other ever has or ever could. You are the most beautiful, caring, wonderful person and I would not want to live on this earth is you were not here to live on it with me. You have made me the happiest man in Greece for the past two years and I hope I have captured the happiness I feel in this.”

“You do all those things for me too, _agapi mou,”_ Liam croaks, stroking down Zayn’s stubbly cheeks. “The fact that you have painted us something from your own hands is amazing enough. May I see?”

Zayn takes a deep breath and nods, keeping one hand clasped tightly in Liam’s as he tugs the sheet off. Their hands don’t stay clasped for long because Liam’s hands fly to his mouth, muffling the gasp that leaves his mouth at the sight of the portrait.

It’s of the two of them, both shirtless and laying in their bed. Liam’s head is pillowed on Zayn’s chest, looking up at Zayn with a look of complete happiness. Likewise, Zayn is gazing down with the same look of overwhelming fond and love and adoration, one hand resting above Liam’s heart while the other tousles his hair. It’s intimate and passionate and Liam feels near tears just staring at it. The way Zayn has captured the slope of his nose, the stubble on their chins, the beautiful contrast between their skin tones is almost mesmerising.

He reaches out and pulls Zayn into his arms, burying his nose in the back of Zayn’s neck to try and quell his tears. Zayn cuddles into him and takes a deep breath, turning his face into Liam’s neck. “Do you… do you like it?”

Liam makes a choked noise. “Like it? Zayn, _agapi mou,_ you said yourself this morning that I am never one for tears and yet today I fear I may cry not once, but twice in one day. This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen on canvas.”

Zayn smiles, turning properly to hold Liam properly, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his forehead on Liam’s shoulder. “It is only me trying to reflect a few of the feelings I feel for you in total.”

“I love you so much,” Liam croaks, crooking his fingers under Zayn’s chin to get to his mouth. “You are the most amazing artist, baby.”

The kiss they share in the studio feels like every kiss they’ve shared for the past two years but more; more love, more devotion, more promises saying _you are mine and I am yours_ and _I will love you until my dying day._

Gradually Zayn turns the kiss heated, sliding his hands down to palm at Liam’s bum while he bites down on his bottom lip. Liam moans and clutches tighter at Zayn’s back, fisting his free hand in Zayn’s hair. He starts to frogmarch them backwards until Zayn pulls away, licking his lips and shaking his head.

“Bedroom, yes?”

Liam nods frantically, feeling giddy and aroused as Zayn yanks him down their winding corridors until they reach their chambers. Liam shouts out instructions to the guards and the slaves milling around that they are not to be disturbed until morning and closes the door hard. Zayn stands there, looking almost ethereal under the moonlight (Liam honestly has no idea what he did to be the luckiest man on earth) and Liam slowly steps into his space.

They aren’t touching quite yet but Liam is eager to, but he also doesn’t want to rush this. He moves his hand out and gently strokes down Zayn’s shoulder, down his chest and then back up to his cheek. Zayn’s breath stutters and he takes a step closer, his own hand reaching out to wrap around Liam’s wrist.

After that it’s like a switch has been flicked. Liam kisses him almost harshly, gripping him tightly at the back of his neck as their teeth clash together and their breaths become one. They collapse on their bed, hands and mouths everywhere as if they can’t get close enough to each other.

Liam is as careful as he always is – pressing a kiss into every inch of Zayn’s skin as he pulls the clothes from him and spreads his legs, admiring the body below him that is his and only his.

They fuck loudly and passionately after Liam has opened him up gently, taking his time to work up to getting three fingers inside, crooking them in that way that makes Zayn quiver and squirm and moan in the most delicious of ways. After Zayn starts begging, Liam slicks himself up thoroughly and starts to press in, gripping each of Zayn’s hands in his own as he uses them to pillar himself above him. He sinks himself in slowly and doesn’t let go of Zayn’s hands until Zayn is crying for him to touch him, to make him come and then come inside him, groaning loudly as he finally climaxes.

They fall asleep in a tangled mess, both sweat-drenched and covered in each other’s spit and semen, which should be disgusting but Liam wouldn’t have it any other way.

When he wakes up in the middle of the night, drenched in a fresh layer of sweat and with dried cum on his belly but near tears again, Zayn doesn’t even comment on how unsanitary it is. He draws him tightly into his chest and rocks him, murmuring words of promise and reassurance into his trembling neck.

*

The nightmares are getting worse.

Liam hasn’t slept a wink for nearly forty-eight hours when Zayn starts threatening to call for Louis. He’s angry and irritable, snapping at all the slaves and even at Zayn when he suggests mixing a remedy to put him under.

“I do not have a sickness,” he hisses as Zayn brings it up one morning over breakfast. “I do not wish for you to baby me.”

“It is not babying,” Zayn retorts, “It is simply trying to aid you. I wish for you to sleep a full night, Liam, that is all.”

“Why? Am I keeping you awake? There are other beds in the house if I am causing you trouble,” Liam sneers.

“You know it is not that, Liam,” Zayn snaps. “If you are going to be a child about this then I won’t try and help.”

He stalks out the room and towards his studio without another word and Liam glares at his plate, tossing the remains of his loaf of bread down glumly. He’s torn between following Zayn to apologise and going for a walk to try and clear his mind so he does the latter, deciding it might at least tire him out enough for him to want to rest his head.

He sets out into their gardens, stepping onto the grass and wriggling his toes so he feels it underfoot like he’s always loved since he was a child. He walks along the turf, his bones feeling heavy and his brain feeling tired, trying not to let himself think so he can immerse himself in the birdsong and the smell of the flowers.

He feels like he hasn’t been on his own in so long, too preoccupied with council and meetings and spending all his time with Zayn that he hasn’t had time to breathe or think for himself in so long. He sighs out almost in relief and looks up to the sun, letting its warmth fan across his face.

Liam sits himself down on the lawn for a while and leans back on his hands, taking a few deep breaths and pulling at the stems of grass. He loves the outdoors, always has, and it’s been so long since he’s just let himself relax and sit to have some time for himself that he can feel the relief washing through him. He lies back and lets his eyes close, ignoring the fact that the sun is rising steadily and he will most likely burn.

He’s jerked awake what feels like no time at all later by the sound of a slam. He sits up and scrubs a hand over his face, disorientated for a second before he realises where he is. Curious, he keeps quiet and tries to hear what the noise was. He can hear muffled voices so eventually he scrambles to his feet and pads as quietly as he can back towards the buildings.

He turns the corner down towards the slave quarters and that’s where he sees a sight he was both anticipating and not anticipating.

Louis has Harry pinned against the wall of the servant quarters, mouth attached to his neck and his hands underneath Harry’s tunic. Harry’s eyes are squeezed shut and his hands are fisted in Louis’s soft hair, mouth open and contorted in pleasure.

Liam creeps down the path as quietly as he can until he’s only a few feet away. “Well, well, well,” he grins, standing with his arms crossed and with a bemused grin. Both men jump and Louis head-butts Harry in the process, making him hiss despite the fact his eyes are wide in terror and his hands have dropped to his side.

“Ah, Liam,” Louis stammers, his hands doing little to cover his obvious bulge under his tunic. “I, um, well…”

“You come to my house, you distract my slave from his chores,” Liam says, hoping the face he’s pulling disguises the complete glee he’s feeling on the inside. “You didn’t even approach me to say that you had worked out your misunderstanding…”

“My lord, I fear I am at fault,” Harry starts to babble, “Louis was only been here a few times and I thought you and Master Zayn were both busy so I didn’t think I would be needed and of course we did not mean to disrespect your house at all, my apologies, my most sincere apologies…”

Louis, however, is furrowing his brows. “ _You_ are the one who told us to sort this out, Liam of Wolver,” he snaps, cutting Harry off but taking his hand quickly. “Do not tell me you suddenly take issue with this?”

Liam tries to keep his stern face but fails. He starts laughing and Louis sighs, relieved, before he lets himself be pulled into a hug.

“I am so happy for you both,” Liam beams, squeezing his best friend tightly. “You are two marvellous people who deserve love from the very best.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Harry says, bowing his head. Liam grins and lets go of Louis to clap him on the shoulder.

“Smile, Harry,” he says merrily. “I have said to you that you should now speak with me as an equal.”

Harry looks up, a nervous grin still playing on his features. Louis kisses his jaw.

“Let us go inside and celebrate,” Liam coaxes, slinging an arm over Louis’s shoulder. “Harry, will you fetch us some wine? To our living room, I think. Let me be the one to fetch Zayn, I think.”

Harry nods, squeezing Louis’s hand quickly before he disappears into the door that leads to the kitchens. Louis watches after him fondly.

“You make a sound choice, brother,” Liam promises. Louis nods.

“I care for him a lot. I cannot say we are in love yet but I think I am nearing it. He is a fine boy.”

“That he is. If you two decide to pursue a marriage then of course he is free to be yours to keep. You should not have to purchase your husband; I shall grant him his freedom.”

Louis looks positively elated. “You have a true heart, brother. We shall have to speak more of it soon, perhaps in a few weeks when I am certain of my feelings myself.”

“Just promise me you are not playing his heart, for he is a young and loyal lad and I do not wish any harm to him. I would be most upset if such harm comes from rejection by my closest friend."

Louis shakes his head hurriedly. “My feelings are true.” He squeezes Liam’s shoulder. “That is something at least I can promise.”

Once they get into the house, they part so Louis can go to the living area to wait and Liam can coax Zayn out of his studio to celebrate. He knocks tentatively at the door and lets it creak open, showing Zayn at his easel, painting the garden outside.

“Zayn?” he asks quietly, stepping towards his husband’s form and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Zayn lets out a tiny gasp and his body goes stiff under the touch. Liam sighs and places his other hand on Zayn’s other shoulder, tilting him back so he can wrap his arms around him, his head resting just about his belly button.

“ _Agapi mou,_ I am sorry,” he says softly. “I am tired and I am stressed and I took my rage out on you and for that I am deeply sorry.”

Zayn pulls Liam’s arms off him and stands up from his stool. For a terrifying moment Liam thinks he’s going to get pushed away but then Zayn’s wrapping him up in his arms, kicking the stool out of the way and he sags; he just wants to fall asleep with Zayn’s strong arms wrapped around him but this will do for now.

“ _Psihi mou, psihi mou,_ please listen to me.You are not fireproof, I need you to remember this,” Zayn murmurs. “I wish you would let me help. But I am sorry too.”

“No, don’t you dare be sorry,” Liam argues. “I managed to nap for a time in the garden, you know.”

“I know,” Zayn grins. “I was watching and painting you. You looked more peaceful than I have seen you in weeks.”

“I felt it,” Liam admits. “I fear that perhaps you were correct in that I just needed some time to relax, relieve myself of my stresses.” Zayn gives him a look. “Yes, okay, you smug idiot.”

Zayn grins, squeezing him tighter around the shoulders.

“Anyway, to other important matters,” Liam says, pulling back. “Louis and Harry finally settled their differences and are going to try to make it work between them.”

Zayn’s eyes go wide. “At long last!”

“The sly dogs have been sneaking around for over a week, at least,” Liam says with an eye roll. “Taking their time paid off though, it seems. I spoke to Louis and he feels like he could end up as we are.”

“I refuse to ever be as sickening as you pair,” Louis interrupts, sticking his head around the door with a grin. “A messenger has arrived for you, Liam.”

Liam opens his mouth to say something but then an almighty crash sounds through the house followed by a terrifying wail of pain. Liam breaks apart from Zayn and sprints down the corridor after Louis to see Harry collapsed to the floor, his hands blistering at a scarily rapid rate as a pool of hissing liquid and smashed glass lies around him.

“By the gods!” Liam swears, just as Louis tugs Harry by the shoulders away from the seeping puddle. “Everybody back!” he commands as slaves and guards from all parts of the house come to Harry’s aid. “Stay back, I say!”

“Someone fetch him some water and some clean fabrics!” Louis shouts, cradling Harry’s head against his chest as he weeps. “Quickly, I say, he needs to be cleaned immediately! And someone send for the physician!”

“That looks like acid,” Zayn whimpers at Liam’s side, clutching one of Liam’s hands in both of his, terrified. “What on Gaia’s earth?”

“Louis,” Harry sobs, “Louis, it stings so much, Louis.”

“Hush, Harry,” Louis coaxes softly, cuddling him as close as he can while he shuffles further away from the puddle. Perrie hurries back with a bowl of water and drops down to her knees, gently taking both Harry’s wrists and placing his hands in it, mindful not to touch. Harry yelps as the cold water washes over his burning skin and Louis strokes a hand through his messy curls, looking positively murderous.

“What happened, Harry?” Liam asks angrily, refusing to let go of Zayn’s hand. “This messenger, did he throw this acid at you?”

Harry sniffs weakly. “No, my lord, no. He carried a vase but as he handed it to me the bottom fell to the floor and the liquid poured all over my hands. He simply said it was a gift for you before handing it to me. I didn’t see where he went after.”

Liam scrubs a hand over his face. “ _Oipho, oipho!_ Harry, from the bottom of my heart I give you my apologies. That should have been for me, not you.”

“It is my duty,” Harry sniffs, “to serve you. Better me than you.”

“Shut up,” Louis growls, leaving a long, lingering kiss onto Harry’s temple. “Nobody deserves this. This is utter bullshit. I will find the man that did this and hang him by his testes from the temple roof.”

Perrie coaxes Harry’s hands out of the cool water and wraps them in fabrics so the wounds aren’t exposed. “I will fetch some healing honey, my lord, to cleanse the burns and keep them clean, and then his wounds should be washed again every three to four hours, I believe.”

“Very good, Perrie,” Liam tells her. “Can you send someone to clean this mess? Tell them to be _careful._ I will not have any more of you hurt by something aimed for me.”

The slaves nod and start to disperse, leaving the four of them and six of Liam’s guards in the room. Liam pulls a trembling Zayn closer to him and clears his throat. “Who gave this messenger permission to enter my threshold?”

“Sir, it was George, a trusted messenger,” Josh says in a nervous voice. “We would not have let a stranger in, especially not with a strange object.”

“ _Oipho,”_ Liam hisses, running a hand through his hair. “Our inner circle has been penetrated. I gave the king my word that my guards and messengers were loyal.”

“My lord, I do not know if I can speak for the others but I know I shall protect you both with my life,” Josh says, stamping his foot.

“And I,” another promises. The chorus carries on round the room and Liam nods at each of them, heart thumping loudly in his ears.

“And I,” Harry croaks from the floor, head still resting on Louis’s chest. Liam shushes him.

“Harry, I already know of your loyalty. I hope you can find it in your heart to one day forgive me for the wrong that has been done to you on my behalf. You are not to work until you are healed.”

Harry’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head. “Please, my lord, you must let me work. I have nowhere to stay otherwise…”

“By the gods, Harry, you think I would have you leave?” Liam asks incredulously. “Absolutely not, you are to move into one of the rooms in the main house where you can be treated properly.”

Harry sniffs. “Are you… are you certain, my lord?”

“Yes, Harry,” Liam says softly. “I owe you my life, lad.”

“I’m not leaving you either,” Louis mumbles into his cheek. “Let’s get you up, yes?”

Liam drops Zayn’s hands and leans forward to help Harry stand, supporting him by his wrists. He calls for Jade and tells her to take Louis and Harry to one of their spare chambers and to turn Harry down the bed, and also to remind Perrie to come and clean his wounds every few hours. She nods and takes them away, Harry still weeping quietly and Louis looking thunderous.

Zayn clings to him again and Liam takes him in his arms, holding him close and wrapping a protective arm around his head. Zayn’s breathing is ragged and his body is trembling but Liam doesn’t really have any words, none that he feels will make the situation more bearable.

They stay clinging to each other all the while an older slave, Caroline, clears up the mess and uses stones to mark off the area so people know not to stand there. They stand there until Zayn lets out a small sob and Liam pulls back, making sure to keep his hand firm on Zayn’s back.

“Liam,” Zayn whispers, “I was so convinced it was an untruth. Just a rumour. But who else would do this? Who else would be out for you like this?”

“I know not, baby, I know not,” Liam says, running a hand up his back. “All I know is that I am very scared.” His voice breaks as he says the last words and Zayn lets out another sob, clinging even tighter to Liam’s tunic.

“What do we do?” Zayn wails eventually, making Liam jump. “Liam, we are both in danger. _Oipho,_ I do not… what do we do, Liam?”

“We go to the king,” Liam says after a moment. “We go to the king and I tell him we do need the extra security. We also say that my messenger is a traitor and endangered one of my close friends. If Paris wants a challenge then one he shall get.”

“Liam, don’t leave,” Zayn whimpers. “Stay here and send a messenger.”

Liam sighs. “I do not want to. I don’t… I do not trust the messengers at present. Gaia knows if I can trust anyone in this house.”

“Me,” Zayn says softly. “And Louis. And Harry. And Perrie and Jade and Josh, I think. In all truth, all the guards are loyal; my father chose them himself.”

“Even so,” Liam says, “I do not want anyone else to speak of this to the king.”

“So what, you are going to go to the palace yourself?”

“Yes,” Liam nods. “Without guards, I think. I want them here protecting you rather than I.”

“Liam, _no,”_ Zayn snaps. “You are going nowhere without a guard, I refuse it.”

Liam sighs and strokes a hand through Zayn’s hair like he’s thinking. “Very well. I shall go when it’s dark so nobody can tell who I am. I shall wear a cloak with a cowl.”

“Liam…”

“Zayn, I am not leaving you unguarded for any time.”

 

“Take me with you then.”

“Out in the open, today of all days? You must think me mad.”

“Liam, _I_ shall go mad without you here, I swear it,” Zayn cries. Liam holds his face in his hands and kisses him firmly.

“You are my number one priority, you understand?” Zayn nods. “And I am yours?” Zayn nods again. “Then you must let me do this knowing you are my number one.” He strokes down Zayn’s cheek, whose eyes are trained on the floor. “ _Agapi mou,_ I am very frightened but I know this must be done for you.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Zayn says miserably. “I don’t want you to put yourself in danger for me.”

“Too late for that,” Liam chuckles wetly.

“Liam, please,” Zayn tries begging again. “Send a messenger, ask the king to come here, or… or _something_ …”

“I am not leaving you for long, I promise,” Liam says, squeezing his hands. “I will wait until nightfall and I shall run there and back. Just stay in our chambers, or with Harry and Louis if you do not wish to be alone…”

“Of course I don’t want to be alone,” Zayn near wails. “Liam, you are not going alone and that is my final word.”

“Zayn, I must…”

“What you must do is listen to me!” Zayn hollers. “You are the one in more danger, you fool! That acid was aimed for your hands and they want _you_ harmed, not I. You need to not be so controlling and let others sometimes do the hardest work because you will put yourself in danger if you go out and I will not allow it, you understand?”

Liam nods dumbly. Zayn sighs, knocking his head into Liam’s shoulder.

“Send yourself a messenger to the palace. Nick is loyal, he can go. Say it is of the upmost importance that you see the king but until then you _stay here with me.”_

“But if someone is watching the house and they see a messenger leave then they will know we are scared,” Liam says.

“And if they see a man wearing a hooded cloak then they will also know we are scared,” Zayn snaps. “Liam, as hideous as it sounds here, I am willing to put a hundred men in danger to keep you safe. Nick is loyal and a fast messenger, yes, but I would rather lose him a hundred times than even contemplate the loss of you.”

Liam nods again as Zayn kisses his forehead. He leads Liam out of the foyer and into his study where he points to his desk. “Now we act as if we are unfazed. You do your work and I shall do mine, we shall eat supper and bathe and all will be fine, yes?”

All is not fine, of course. Liam writes the king a letter and sends it off towards the palace with Nick before he eventually starts to look over some taxation reports but his mind cannot focus, constantly sneaking glances to where Zayn sits on one of the couches to read. It’s almost awkward and Liam _hates_ it. He’s tired and scared and wants to be held but Zayn seems adamant, eyes staying trained on his book for longer than Liam’s ever seen him read.

A knock on the door provides a welcome distraction. Liam calls for them to come in and Jesy, one of his kitchen maidens, enters, pushing down the hood of her cloak. “My lord, I return from the physician. He says he can be here tomorrow at daybreak at earliest.”

“You went to the physician?” Liam asks. Jesy nods, looking worried until Liam says “thank you, Jesy. That thought was not even present in my mind but thank you for being resourceful.”

“We all care a lot for Harry,” she explains, cheeks pink. Liam nods and she bows and disappears, leaving Liam feeling guiltier than before.

After a while, he stands to check on Harry. He heads down to the room that he’s assigned him, the next corridor down from his own. He knocks softly on the door and after a few moments Louis answers. He looks tired and scared and like he needs to be held too.

“Brother, how is he?” Liam asks. Louis shakes his head.

“I have only just got him to stop crying. He is sleeping now but I am loathed to leave him.”

“How are his hands?”

Louis looks near tears. “Damaged, Liam, they’re so damaged. They are near burned to the bone on one hand and he… he won’t be able to hold much or do much with them even after they have healed, I fear. He’s in so much pain, Liam.”

“I shall send Perrie down to cleanse them once more,” Liam says, a lump sitting heavy in his throat. “The physician will be here in the morning. Louis, I am so, so sorry, to him and to you.”

Louis nods, eyes shining with tears so Liam pulls him into a fierce hug. From here, he can see Harry lying on the bed, his face contorted with pain even as he sleeps. The overwhelming guilt is sickening so Liam pulls back from Louis, hurriedly rubbing at his face.

“Let me fetch Perrie. I’ll call you for supper when it’s prepared.”

Louis nods and closes the door behind him. Liam sighs and hurries to the kitchen, a place he rarely goes but he feels today is not the day for calling for slaves through a summoning bell. He hurries inside and all the slaves bow, which makes him shake his head.

“Not today, my friends. Today is a day when I do not feel it is right to call myself your superior when I do not feel it. Perrie?”

“Yes, my lord?” she says, drying her hands on her apron.

“Can you attend to Harry, please? His dressings need changing and his wounds need rinsing. The physician cannot come until the morning.”

“Of course,” she says, already filling a bowl with water. “I’ll attend to him now.”

“Appreciations to you all,” Liam says sincerely, looking around the kitchen at all his loyal slaves. “I am sorry you are working for a house that suddenly finds itself in danger but I promise we will sort it, I swear on my own life.”

The tension in the house doesn’t calm for the rest of the evening. Dinner is stilted and Zayn is still short with him, as is Louis. He can understand Louis’s anger, of course, but Zayn’s seems more out of fear, like he doesn’t know who else to direct his anger on.

They bathe separately and by the time Liam goes to crawl into bed Zayn is already fast asleep, snoring softly and his body curled up towards Liam’s body would lie. For a few moments, Liam readies himself to climb into bed alongside and sleep until morning but then he changes his mind. He knows Zayn will be angry but he needs to do this, needs to do this for his own piece of mind.

So he grabs his cloak and affixes it around his neck, drawing the hood up to his head. As quietly as he can, he creeps towards his front door, hurrying past the guards who nod him on his way as he hurries out into the cover of darkness and towards the palace.

He manages the walk that usually takes him about half an hour in twenty minutes, hurrying over to the guards and showing his face. They let him in immediately and he summons over a guard from the entrance of the building itself. “Is the king asleep yet?”

The guard shakes his head. “As far as I know he is entertaining with friends in one of his living rooms.”

“Please go to him and tell him that Liam of Wolver is here and requests his presence immediately on the matter of which I contacted about earlier.”

The guard nods and hurries off and Liam takes a moment to catch his breath as he leans against a tree in the courtyard. He feels a fool to be here and his mind wanders back to where Zayn is, lying in their bed. He briefly wonders if Zayn is still asleep or if he’s woken and is currently tearing his hair out but then the guard returns, signalling him inside the house.

He’s led through the lavishly decorated hallways until he reaches the king’s studies. He’s never been to this part of the palace before, only to the banquet hall or occasionally one of the king’s living areas but then again he’s never had to deal with something so serious before.

The guard opens the door for him and he steps inside to see the king, dressed up in finery at his table.

“My king,” he says as he bows before him. The king nods back and signals him to sit opposite him.

“Liam, I had not expected to see you here so late. In fact, I am surprised in your willingness to leave Zayn after your message.”

“I too, sir, I was reluctant to do so but I needed to see you,” Liam says in one long breath. “I left under cover of darkness tonight but I fear that we may not be safe anymore. I wish to hurriedly take up your offer for increased protection.”

“Consider it done,” the king says. “Tell me what has happened.”

“One of my best slave boys, Harry, went to collect a token from one of my messengers, a messenger I thought was loyal, I might add. The vase came without a note and when Harry took it from him the bottom fell off and covered his hands in a corrosive acid. I fear his skin may be unhealable and he lies in bed in much pain.”

The king gasps. “By the gods! A hideous incident to happen. And definitely premeditated, you say?”

Liam nods. “I am certain. All the messenger said to Harry was this was a gift for me. I fear my life is more likely to be in danger but this must be a warning for us both, I’m sure.”

“This is unacceptable and rather frightening,” the king nods. “I will send you eight of my personal guards by morning. This should at least aim to deter a second threat, if any are looming.”

“You are a kind and understanding king, my lord,” Liam says, standing up and bowing. “Your charity is much needed and very well received.”

“No worries, Liam. You both need this. Now go back to your husband before you strike fear in him.”

Liam nods, bows and hurries out. He pulls his cloak around him and waves a goodbye to the guard who showed him to the king, moving quickly through the maze of corridors and open courtyards until he reaches the main gates. He’s just walking out and onto the main street when he hears a voice call his name.

“General Liam of Wolver?”

He turns and sees a tall man striding towards him, a helmet atop his head and a cloak in the colour of wine around his neck – the red of King Anaxidamus himself. He stops and waits for the man to catch him up.

“That is I.”

“I am of the King’s guard, he instructed me to walk with you home to make sure you stay safe.”

Liam shakes his head. “You do not need to. I wish to not draw attention to myself, I just wish to get home quicker. But give him my sincerest thank yous.”

“With respect, sir, the king said you would decline. He said in this case I should resign myself to walk far enough behind you so I can just keep my eye on you, is that a compromise?”

“Very well,” Liam reluctantly agrees, still unsure of why the king has done this. “As long as you pose no distraction or threat.”

The guard nods and waits for Liam to get fifteen or so paces ahead before he starts to follow behind. Liam takes on a speedy enough pace and the guard seems to be able to follow so he doesn’t let himself think anything of it.

When Liam approaches his property he feels a wave of uneasiness wash over him. Something is wrong, he swears it. He steps forward cautiously, hands going to the dagger at his belt as he walks onto his property pathway. The guards are nowhere to be seen and he opens his mouth to call out.

The next thing Liam knows, there’s a loud thud, a sharp pain spreading across his entire body and then darkness.

* 

His bones feel heavy, his skin feels too tight and his head throbs as his eyes flutter open. It’s bright, too bright and he groans, eyes dropping closed again because it all hurts too much. He feels a hand press into his forehead and he strains himself to open his eyes again, trying to focus in on the face looming above him.

A few blinks later and he can make out that it’s Louis, brows furrowed and mouth set in a tight line. He struggles to sit up but Louis presses a gentle yet firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him down.

“Liam? Can you hear me?”

Liam nods, dazed, as a cold piece of cloth is placed over his head, cooling his burning skin. He tries to look past Louis but his eyes won’t focus so he lets them close again for a few moments to try and re-orientate himself.

“Here is some water for him to drink,” he hears a female voice say – Jade’s, he realises. He gratefully takes a drink from the goblet placed to his lips and nods it away once he’s drunk enough. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again, this time blinking until he can focus in on the faces around the room. He’s not in his own chambers, he realises, but in one of his guest rooms. Louis’s sat on the bed beside him, hand gripping his wrist. Harry stands behind him with bandaged hands, face streaked with tear tracks. Perrie is on his other side, dabbing the cool cloth across his head and Jade and Jesy are holding water and plates of food.

“Why am I here?” he croaks out in a rusty voice. “Have I been taken ill?”

Louis hesitates but shakes his head. “You, um, somebody knocked you out, Liam. You have been out near two days.”

“Two days?” Liam near shouts, scrabbling to sit up, hissing at the throbbing in his head. “What on Gaia’s earth? Where is Zayn?”

Perrie’s hand slips from where it was holding the cloth against his skin and Harry lets out a choked sob. Louis covers his mouth with his hand.

“Liam… I’m so… I’m so sorry, Liam.”

“What’s happened?” Liam asks, bile rising in the back of his throat. “Tell me what has happened. Where is my Zayn?”

There’s a long pause.

“Tell me!” he shouts. “What has happened?”

“Zayn’s been taken, Liam,” Louis chokes out, covering his mouth with his hands like he wants to stop the words from leaving him. “It all happened while we slept, I…”

“Zayn’s been taken?” Liam repeats in a dangerously low voice. “Tell me this is a poor joke, Louis.”

“The guards had their throats cut,” Louis continues in a wavering voice. “They lay dead in the pathway as we woke. You lay hit and bleeding on the ground and you wouldn’t _wake,_ Liam, we all thought you were going to die…”

“But they took Zayn?” Liam interrupts, his voice a dangerous mix between a whisper and a shout.

“Josh carried you to here and I went to wake Zayn but your bed was empty. No signs of a struggle, mind, but this parchment was left on your pillow.”

“I don’t _care_ about what the parchment reads,” Liam hisses. “Why are none of you following? Why have none of you chased these _cunts_ who stole my husband from his bed?!”

“Liam, they could be anywhere,” Louis says, voice calm yet pleading. “We do not know of their intentions or where they would take him. I have spoken with the king, who is furious, by the way, and he says I must aim to stop you doing anything rash; we must wait for their instructions.”

“But he’s gone?” Liam repeats, fingers digging into Louis’s wrists harshly. He throws the wet cloth from his forehead against the wall and Perrie hurries away from the bed in fear. “Louis, he cannot be gone. Swear to me he is not gone. You must swear to me, he _cannot be gone,_ Louis.”

“I do not wish for you to hear these words, never ever, but he is gone, Liam, I’m sorry, I am so sorry.”

He tries to move from the bed but Louis tugs him back, strong hands wrapped around his bicep. “You are not to leave, Liam, they could be going anywhere.”

“I need to find Zayn,” Liam yells, voice thick and choked. “Louis, let me go, I cannot let them take him.”

“Liam, they have already taken him,” Louis says as gently as he can. “You have been out for two days, they could be any distance away by now. We must wait until we have an idea of their plans.”

“I cannot wait, I _refuse_ to wait,” Liam spits, trying to wrestle Louis’s hands off of him. “Louis, I must find him.”

“Liam, do not leave this house!” Louis shouts back. “People out there clearly want you dead! You may never see Zayn again if you act like this. You need to heal first, brother, and then we will formulate a plan, I promise you.”

“People want me dead,” Liam repeats dumbly.

“Yes, brother,” Louis says, more tenderly this time. “You will be no use to Zayn if you are dead. Do not get ahead of yourself. There is no point in putting yourself in danger yet. We need you to recover and we need you to get your head in the right place before we can do right to Zayn.”

Tears are pouring down Liam’s face at an alarming rate at Louis’s words, his head thrashing wildly from side to side as Louis babbles on. “You actually did wise by you both, Liam. If you had slept in your bed then you would almost certainly have been killed…”

“This is my fault,” he sobs, pulling his tunic up to his eyes and burying them in the cloth. “This is all my fault.”

Louis shakes his head and tries to pull Liam in for a hug but he shakes him off almost violently, choking out another harsh sob as he does so.

“He can’t be gone, he can’t, he can’t,” he weeps, breath stuttering harshly and fingers digging into his skin.

“Liam…”

“Leave me!” he near screams, yanking his arm away from Louis again. “Everyone, leave me, leave me _now,_ I beg you.”

“Liam, you are hysterical, we cannot…”

“Get the fuck out!” he bellows, sitting up to shove Louis from the mattress. He stumbles and turns to Liam again but Liam has turned his back to them all, head buried in a pillow as he sobs. "All of you, leave!"

He eventually hears the door click closed behind him and he sobs and he sobs, heart crumbling into a million tiny pieces as he thinks of someone grabbing a hold of his sleeping husband, dragging him from his bed as he cries out in fear and pain. He digs his fingernails into his palm as he thinks of Zayn being grabbed and yanked and shoved and _touched_ by somebody else, taking him to a strange place and mocking him because _where’s his precious Liam to save him now?_

Liam cries and cries until he vomits and then he cries some more. He’s too weak to move so when Louis comes in later to check on him and sees the state that Liam’s worked himself into, he calmly peels back the sheets and takes him for a bath.

He scrubs his skin raw, washing the blood from his head and the vomit from his mouth. He refuses supper and stalks straight into his own bedroom, pulling the sheets that smell like Zayn tightly around him and crying until Louis makes Josh hold him in place and forces a sleeping draft down his throat.

He doesn’t have a nightmare that night but he doesn’t need to anymore.


	3. The Preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Zayn is gone, Liam pines, Niall arrives and Louis and Harry work a few things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii everyone! I am so sorry this took so long, I've had the past few weeks from hell and I've been writing this bit by bit in my spare time which has been few and far between. Thank you for being patient and thank you for reading this if you do! 
> 
> This chapter is mainly just getting a few things straightened out before they set off to Troy so expect a lot of Niall and Louis&Harry. The next chapter will be Zayn's POV and I'm hoping now I'm back at uni I can work a bit of writing into my routine so hopefully it won't be as much of a gap!
> 
> (Taxiarchos is the Greek word for brigadier, the rank below Liam, Niall and Louis) 
> 
> Enjoy!!!!

It’s been twenty-one days since Liam last smiled.

Twenty-one days since he remembered what it was like to feel anything like happiness, contentment, joy. Twenty-one days since he last held the person who cares for more than himself in his arms, felt his lips on his skin, felt _complete,_ even. He feels like a shell of a man, which is ridiculous because he knows he is stronger than this. He knows he has dealt with death and war and blood in the past which should logically have fazed him more than this ever should.

He has watched his sister’s husband die in front of him in battle, watched his father’s throat cut by bandits less than a year before, seen the innocent lives of slaves taken in the blink of an eye for something as minor as bringing wine of the wrong temperature by some of the more brutish members of the Spartan court; all acts that have made him vomit and cry and rethink his life choices, but he thinks he would take that a hundred times over if it meant he could come home to Zayn at the end of it.

The part that makes his behaviour seem worse to himself is that he is almost completely certain that Zayn is still alive. This is of course wonderful knowledge to hold close but he feels like a _child_ , a weak and foolish child because he has no need to mourn.

Happiness, contentment, joy. Was it even worth trying to remember those emotions if that was attached to them was the thought of his love, the love that was so cruelly taken without warning and one that he fears he may never see again? Was it worth trying to feel them when he has no reason to? If anything, he should be holding out for fury, rage, anger. He is angry, of course he’s angry, but he can’t seem to find the energy to channel it to the surface of his overwhelming sadness.

He can’t decide how to deal with this, or whether he wants to deal with it at all when Louis and the King have taken charge of the situation, leaving him to mope and mourn. Part of him wishes to keep his mind distracted but part of him wishes to simply linger, to lie on Zayn’s side of the bed and inhale what remains of his scent and to weep and reminisce and pine.

Except this is past the point of pining. Pining is what he did in the months leading up to the challenge for Zayn’s heart those two years ago. This feels like a limb has been torn from his body, the air ripped from his lungs, the purpose gone from his existence. What is the point of living without Zayn when Zayn owns all of him; his mind, his body, his spirit? He is a mess and he knows he should not be, that he should not show weakness because the news will spread like wildfire and possibly even reach Paris, but he could not care less.

Zayn was… _is…_ his entire universe, his everything. He filled all the rooms he entered with light and all the people who knew him with joy and laughter. He was Liam’s purpose in life, his sun in the sky, his moon and his stars, the only one who could make him want to sing, dance, laugh, cry, touch, taste, _feel._ He was all Liam wanted for the rest of his life, all he wanted to come home to at the end of his days, all he wanted to know and understand.

Zayn was infinite – he was golden and stunning and wonderful in ways Liam could never have imagined without him and didn’t want to imagine life without anymore. He loved Liam so much, so unconditionally that Liam thought sometimes they could burst with their love for each other. But he also loved the world, this mortal world he chose over Mount Olympus; he loved the trees and the plants and the animals and the people, his heart stretched to all and it was just magical because everyone and everything loved him back, yet he loved Liam most of all.

Liam’s yesterday, today and tomorrow were held in the hands of this one man, this one beautiful, loving, perfect person who ruled Liam’s heart and soul and now they were gone. The idea that he wasn’t just in the next room, wasn’t laughing with his friends or painting in his studio or reading in their study or spread out waiting for Liam on their bed was enough to break Liam’s heart so irreparably that he was almost certain he could hear it crumbling in his chest.

And this emptiness, this lack of love, happiness, contentment, joy… this _plague_ on his existence hurt worse than any of the daggers that had ever pierced his skin had, worse than watching his best friend nearly lose his own love in front of his eyes, worse than losing his own father, even.

The worst part was everything felt infinitely worse because out there somewhere was his love, his baby, his _agapi mou,_ who could be crying or hungry or in pain at this very moment and he just doesn’t know. He can’t do anything to stop the frantic images circling his mind or the pain in his heart because he doesn’t know what is happening. And there was absolutely nothing he could do.

Since Louis has banned him from chasing blindly after him he feels like a dog on a lead, watched at all hours by a guard at his door all day and night. To his credit, Louis has also been the greatest friend possible during Liam’s crying fits and sleepless nights – he’s essentially moved into his house and divides the long hours between holding Liam through his tears and nightmares, tending to Harry (like a cross between a perfect doting lover and a mother hen, just like he would be around Zayn, Liam thinks bitterly) and also attempting to organise as much as he can towards the siege on Troy.

Anaxidamus has been sympathetic and kind – he had called for Liam and Louis five days after Liam had awoken and Liam had stumbled there in a daze, too exhausted to do much more than nod and let Louis answer for him.

“He was taken without a trace, you say?” Anaxidamus had asked, leaning back in his chair and scratching at his chin.

“Yes, my lord,” Louis answered for him, rising to his feet. “Whoever it was had this planned for some time, it seems. It was almost like they had watched Liam for a while, knew he would come to find you on the day that the acid attack took place. It would not surprise me if they struck while Liam was out at your palace rather than after his head was struck.”

“You were all asleep?”

Louis nods. “I was in the house too, had been all day with, er… so a slave turned a bed down for me. It was a long day and it was late, late enough for supper to have been cleared away and the slaves to have mostly been dismissed for the night. They reside in quarters at the back of Liam’s house so it is unlikely they would have been able to hear much.”

“And what of the guards?”

“The two at the door had their throats cut. I found them slumped against the walls in the morning, like their bodies had been dragged out the way so Liam could not have seen the brutality on his return to the house from the palace. The guards whose posts were at the start of his passageway were too brutally cut down. Whoever did it knew what they were doing because nobody else heard a peep, I swear it.”

 “And how is the victim of the acid attack?”

Louis takes a deep breath and pinches the skin in between his nose and mouth. “He is in great pain, my lord. I have tried to make him sleep as much as he can to take the pain away but there is not much else that can be done. Slaves attend to his wounds regularly and he, um… there is always someone trusted by his side at night.”

“Much dedication to a simple slave boy, Liam,” the King notes. Louis flushes a deep magenta and ducks his head. “Do we think he will be fit to work again?”

“Almost definitely not,” Louis says sadly. “His skin was burned to near the bone on one hand and I cannot see it ever fully healing. He is to remain in the house until the risk of infection passes at least.”

“How long will that be, do we think?”

“It was a harsh burn,” Liam croaks, startling both Louis and the King. “He is to stay in a proper bedroom with proper wash facilities for the rest of his days, if need be. Both Louis and I will see to his well-being. He is loyal to me and Louis individually and it does not matter if he can no longer work; I just want his health.”

“Very well,” the King says airily. “I was expecting that you would be more gracious that it was just a slave and not an important member of your house, Liam.”

“He’s not just…” Louis starts but Liam wraps a gentle hand around his balled fist.

“He is a lot more than just a slave, he was a friend to both Zayn and I and to Louis too,” Liam says gently. He sighs and drops Louis’s hand. “He is my slave, yes, but Louis intends to marry this boy, did so before the incident, even. It is unlikely he would have worked after this week, injury or no injury, so to my working household it was an anticipated loss. I was not and am not ready or willing to lose a friend for this, however.”

The King lets out a long breath. “By the gods, Louis, I had heard no news of this. I had no idea you were even keeping long-term company, let alone the long-term company of one of Liam’s slaves. I know we have other important matters at hand but I would first like to make sure there are no hard feelings between you two old friends. Liam, did you know of their coupling?”

Liam nods. “I have seen it coming for some time. At first I did fear that it was just sex, I must admit, but then I saw there was a lot more to their pairing than that. Louis cares so deeply for him and Harry feels the same in return. Who am I to get in the way of love when I know that I would have let nothing interfere with me getting my own love?” He says the last part in a stuttered breath, his heart heavy and thumping under his armour as he thinks of Zayn again.

“He speaks true,” Louis adds, gripping Liam’s wrist as he hears his friend’s voice break. “We have not really spoken about marriage yet, especially not with his injury but I want to marry him, I am certain. I care neither about his rank nor for how his injury will hinder him. He will be okay, I hope, given time.”

“Does your father know?” Anaxidamus asks in a gentle voice. Louis shakes his head sadly.

“Which is in part why I have kept this quiet. I am not ashamed to love him but I do not wish my father to find out as of yet. It would be unfair to both Harry and Liam when we have more important issues at hand, like you say.”

“Very well,” the King nods. “I wish you both happiness and blessings. But yes, we do have more pressing issues to attend to.” He clears his throat. “Liam, I have spoken with Paul and a few more Generals, of Sparta and Athens both. We have managed to accumulate six thousand men for your cause. It is an unforgivable disrespect that has happened and Paris must be punished, lest the whole of his city be attacked. He cannot and will not get away with this, I can assure you of this.”

Liam stares at him dumbly and Louis lets out an audible gulp. “Six thousand, my lord?” he stammers. “Are you certain that many can be spared?”

“This is not just an individual battle, Louis,” the King points out. “This has become a conflict between two great cities. Paris would have known this would happen. If you or any of my courts folk carried out such an act then… well, you would be immediately dismissed and possibly even punished by my hand first. But King Priam must know of Paris’s intentions, he must, and in not stopping him he has created powerful enemies.”

“My King…” Liam says, swallowing thickly. “I do not wish for this to turn into a war.”

“Neither do I but am I right in thinking that you are willing to do anything to get Zayn back?”

Liam nods hurriedly. “Anything, my lord, absolutely anything.”

“Then so be it. I shall put the two of you in charge of the legions. Louis, how much preparation do you think you will need?”

“Two months, perhaps? I have a thousand of my own troops and Liam has just fewer than two thousand so we are well manned. However, I am worried that in two months that the weather will start to get chilly and night will be a dangerous time.”

“Do you wish then to set off at first bloom?” the King asks.

“But that is six months hence!” Liam gapes, all the colour draining from his face.

“Liam, I can promise you six thousand men but it _is_ unreasonable to send them out in winter,” the King reasons.

“But I cannot be that long without him!” Liam near shouts, hands fisting in his hair. “Who knows what could happen in so much time?” The King sighs.

“Liam, you are a general yourself. Would you ever send six thousand troops anywhere during the winter months, when the food is scarce and the weather unpredictable?”

“But my Zayn could be…”

“Liam,” the King says, firm but kind. “This is my final word. The troops are yours but only when the flowers start to bloom, you understand?”

“ _Agapi mou,_ my Zayn _”_ Liam murmurs miserably. He runs a hand through his hair and takes several deep breaths before he speaks again. “I do, I do understand, my lord. I am saddened, of course, but I understand. Thank you again for your kindness and your offerings.”

“Of course,” the King nods. “I am so very sorry there is not more that can be done in the short term but believe me, Liam, we will get your love back, I swear it.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Louis says, bowing before him. “We shall update you regularly on our progress, perhaps once every ten moons or so?”

“That would be most good of you,” Anaxidamus says. “A good day to you both. I hope you, Liam, can have a restful night of sleep, even.”

“I doubt it,” Liam mumbles bitterly as he too bows. Louis puts a supportive hand on his upper back as the pair is lead out of there, flanked by genuine guards of the King’s own as they walk home. Even now, their red capes make Liam feel uneasy and jumpy, even though he is well aware of their truth but he walks fast, Louis scuttling behind him.

Once they get to the safety of Liam’s property, he turns to go towards his chambers to mope away from everything and everyone but Louis gently tugs him towards his study, hand around his wrist.

“Liam,” he says softly once the door has been closed behind them. “Brother, I know that was not an easy thing to hear.”

Liam drops his helmet, ignoring Louis’s flinch as it hits the floor with a resounding clatter. He drops onto one of the sofas and buries his head in his hands, breathing deeply.

“I cannot wait that long, Louis, I cannot, I cannot,” he says, voice thick with tears. “I shall go mad for not knowing how he is… _oipho,_ the knowledge that Paris is out there and may have so much as touched his skin is enough to make me go mad as bats.”

“Liam, there is method behind his harshness. You understand this, right?”

“But surely we should strike sooner!” Liam says pleadingly, sliding his hands up to fist them in his hair. “Surely we should not give them time to get stronger; they won’t be expecting an attack in winter, will they?”

Louis pauses. “That… isn’t even an irrational point, Liam. It is true that they won’t, I suppose, but we would have to speed up planning and…”

“We do not need to speed up planning, don’t you see?” Liam cries. “You have a thousand men in your legion, I have near two thousand in mine, we could travel there near undetected, I think.”

“Liam,” Louis says incredulously. “We cannot breach Troy with under three thousand men, have you lost your wits entirely?”

“I already said I don’t want to start a war, Louis,” Liam snaps back. “This is a battle between me and Paris.”

“And so what, you are going to march our troops to the coast, sail across the seas and get to Troy for what? We need planning, Liam.”

“I thought you were a brother, Louis,” Liam hisses. “We need planning, yes, but you should help me plan faster. You know I cannot wait until first bloom. I shall march my troops without your help if I must.”

“Oh yes, excellent plan, brother,” Louis scoffs. “Have you forgotten that there are people out there who want you dead, Liam? This is probably what they want, can’t you see?”

“Yes, I can see,” Liam shouts. “I can see they want me to suffer like this, to hurt and to make me look weak, I get it! And he has made me weak and he knows it! Therefore I need to fight back now to show I am still as strong as I can be!”

“By the gods, Liam, people want you _dead,”_ Louis repeats. “If you fight back with so small of an army then you will be the target! You will be killed in an instant and then what of Zayn?”

Liam lets out a sound that sounds somewhere between a growl and a sob. Louis scrubs a hand over his face.

“Liam, I do not wish to shout at you – by Zeus, that is the last thing I want for you right now, to feel that I am not your brother – but I will not let you end yourself or the lives of your troops.” Liam shakes his head but Louis kneels in front of him, taking both his wrists gently. “I will help you plan this all and if we plan hurriedly then we may be able to start our march to Troy before the worst of winter hits. No, _listen,”_ he says as Liam nods hurriedly. “We will have a very small timeframe, brother. We need it to be when they will not be expecting such an attack, which you are correct in saying is likely to be during winter, but I know not much of Trojan winters. If we can find adequate supplies for such numbers then I will talk to the king in a few weeks. Do you understand?”

Liam sniffs, nodding meekly. “Thank you, brother. You are a good friend.”

“I cannot bear to see you so sad, my dear friend,” Louis says, brushing the hair out of his eyes softly. “I want to do this for you and also for Harry, I cannot lie, but I will be here with and for you every single step of this voyage.”

“I would not be able to do this without you,” Liam mumbles weakly, gripping at Louis’s forearms. “I don’t know how to deal with this, Lou, I feel sick with emotion every single second and I just want to sleep.”

“You are allowed time to mourn,” Louis says softly before his eyes go wide. “I do not mean mourn, _oipho,_ but I mean, um, I mean you are allowed time to dwell on the loss. What has happened to you is not okay at all and you should take some time to come to terms with what needs to be done.”

“I know, I know,” Liam says meekly, letting his body be pulled into a tight embrace. “I am sorry I even thought of questioning your loyalty.”

“Do not trouble yourself, brother,” Louis says, shrugging as he pulls away. “You are not in the best of ways. Would you like me to have the servants prepare you a meal?”

Liam shakes his head. “I just want wine for now, please. I think I will return to my chambers.”

“Liam, you know what you are like with too much wine,” Louis warns but Liam waves him off.

“Please. Just for today. We can plan tomorrow but now I just need to think, I think.”

“You take your time,” Louis says, ringing the bell in the study that signals the dresser slave. Aiden appears seconds later and Liam stands to his feet, leaning down so his cloak can be unfastened and his breastplates removed.

A few seconds later, a sheepish-looking Harry appears in the doorway, his hands still bandaged but the colour returning to his cheeks at last. He’s not quite gotten used to his dismissal from his work so Liam still nods without really looking at him to signal his permission for his entrance.

Harry bows back like on instinct and Liam shakes his head, his lips pursed together sadly.

“Harry, it is okay.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, though he doesn’t stop holding his wrapped-up hands behind his back in submission like slaves are taught to. “I heard you come in and I just, um, I wanted…”

“Love, come here,” Louis coaxes, holding an arm out for Harry to gently wrap around himself. Liam turns away as Harry tucks his face into Louis’s neck and Louis presses a gentle kiss onto his forehead, murmuring something he can’t quite hear (and doesn’t really want to, considering how lonely he feels in that second).

“I… I shall leave you now,” Liam mumbles, gently pushing past Aiden to hurry back to his chambers. He hears Louis call his name but he doesn’t look back, just shoves blindly past Josh and slams the door behind him, flinging himself onto the bed and fisting his hands in his hair again.

The bed still holds Zayn’s scent somewhat, though it is slowly being replaced with Liam’s the more nights he spends with his nose buried in his pillow. He sighs and lays his head down, drinking in the smell of Zayn’s favourite oils along with the lingering scent of just _Zayn._ He was often told by his husband and also Louis on occasion that he was one of the worst-smelling people in Greece after he had done exercise or had been in the sun too long and the memory of him giggling as he was shoved towards their baths almost makes him smile for a second. Almost.

He does not wish to begrudge Louis anything – he knows what it’s like to fall in love so quickly you don’t know what to do with it but his heart aches so much now to tuck Zayn under his arm, to kiss him sweetly and to murmur that he loves him even though they both know there is no need to. He wants to slide his hand inside Zayn’s slightly smaller one and bring it to his lips, to squeeze it tightly as they walk through the town or through their gardens talking about everything and nothing, to bury his nose in his scalp and smell him properly.

There’s a knock on the door and Liam reluctantly turns his head over so he can croak out consent for the slave to enter. Perrie nods as she opens the door and places a jug of wine on the small table in the centre of the room.

“Can I get you anything else, my lord?”

Liam shakes his head. “Thank you, Perrie, that is all for now.”

She nods again and hurries out, tugging the door closed behind her. Liam shuffles off the bed and grabs the wine, downing it in shift chugs that burn his throat and nearly make him gag but it’s what he needs.

He needs to forget for now, at least.

*

On the twenty-second day, Liam manages to coax a smile.

 

He’s on his third cup of wine propped up on Zayn’s pillows when Perrie knocks on the door. “My lord?” she asks tentatively as she slowly opens the door. “There is someone at the door for you.”

“I care not,” Liam groans as he drains the last of his glass. “Send them away and tell them I’m sleeping.”

“Please, my lord,” Perrie says pleadingly. “He says he is a close friend of yours and that he has travelled from Messina.”

“I have no friends in Messina,” Liam says slowly. “He cannot be a friend of mine, I am certain.”

“Liam!” a voice rings loudly from down the hallway. “Liam, come and greet your old friend this instant!”

Liam’s eyes go wide. “Niall?!” he calls back incredulously, setting his goblet on his bedside table and throwing the sheets off him. “By Zeus, is that you?”

Niall’s happy cackle greets him as he hurries down the hall, arms open for Liam to plough into. Liam can’t fight the smile that graces his lips as his dear friend slaps at his back and laughs merrily as they hold each other, eventually pulling away to cup Liam’s face in his hands.

“My dear brother,” he says happily. “It has been so long, has it not?”

“Over two years, it must be,” Liam croaks, still not quite believing Niall to be stood in front of him. “Not since the, um, the tournament in Athens.”

Niall purses his lips and pulls him in for another hug. “News has travelled fast and the second I heard I organised a trip here. Is it true?” Liam nods sadly. “Then I am so truly sorry, Liam, from the bottom of my heart. Zayn belongs with you and nowhere else and this is in part the reason I rushed here.”

Liam shakes his head into Niall’s shoulder. “Thank you, brother. Let us not speak of this yet though. I am certain you are weary from travel, after all, and could perhaps do with some wine and a meal?”

“If you are offering then that would be most pleasant,” Niall grins, pulling back and clicking his fingers. “I have taken residence in a property only a few streets from here so I am close. Perhaps some wine too?” he asks a passing Perrie, who nods and disappears towards the kitchen.

Liam puts his hand on Niall’s shoulder and leads him towards one of their leisure rooms, where they take seats on two of the soft sofas inside. Niall clicks his back and grins over at Liam, who finally smiles back.

“Tell me, Niall, what brings you to Sparta?” he asks as he leans back. “And what is this of you settling in Messina?”

“I do live in Messina now, that is true,” Niall grins. “I had the good fortune to stay there with Greg for a time. I had planned to make the long trek back to Mullingar eventually but as you know I am lazy and I hate travelling so I stayed. Made a home for myself there. Found a wife.”

Liam groans, half-jokingly and half-reluctantly. Niall flushes, his still-pale skin darkening to a deep red as he brushes his fringe from his face.

“She was a slave, you see, a slave in Greg’s house. I told myself for a long time I was staying for the travel reason, which did have something to do with it, I cannot lie, but yes, I am an honest man now.”

“I never thought I would see the day,” Liam says, his smile only forced in part because he is happy for Niall, he can’t not be. “You took more people to bed than I ever did.”

“Perhaps but like you I am a changed man now,” Niall grins, graciously accepting a cup of wine from Perrie. “You should meet her later, if you would like.”

“Of course,” Liam says. “I cannot wait to see the face of the girl who has tamed your wild heart. Does she know what she’s gotten herself into?”

Niall wheezes out another laugh. “Quite possibly not but I love her very much. I hope you approve, brother.”

“I am certain I will. What is her name?”

“Leigh-Anne. She hales from North Africa of origin and she is a beauty, Liam, I cannot explain.”

“I am sure I can take note when I meet her later,” Liam snorts as Niall’s face goes all dopey. “I shall have my slaves fix a feast to celebrate your arrival. Is there anyone else you would have me invite?”

“I think we both know the answer to that,” Niall says. “I loathe Sparta but I love you and Louis both. Where is he?”

“Here somewhere, actually,” Liam says. “He has taken up almost permanent residence under my roof since it, er, since that day. Shall I send for him?”

“Please,” Niall says, settling back in his seat and taking another long slug of wine. “I cannot believe it has been near two years since we last saw each other. It feels like no time has passed at all.”

“Did you not return to Mullingar after you were in Athens?” Liam asks as he gestures Jade over. “Can you find Louis please?”

Jade nods and bows as Niall shakes his head. “No, I had already planned on returning to Messina to see Greg. Mullingar is not for me anymore, I do not think.”

“But you love that place!”

Niall shrugs. “Greg resides with Denise in Messina. You and Louis are here. Leigh-Anne’s home is Messina also. If I went back to Mullingar I would have nobody I care about close. And for me that is not a home, you understand?”

Liam nods. “I do, of course I do. So do you think you will take up permanent residence there?”

“I kind of already have. I have purchased property there, close to Greg’s because Leigh-Anne’s family are still working there. I just feel…”

“By the gods,” a voice from the doorway interrupts. “Niall of Mullingar, do my eyes play tricks on me?”

“Louis!” Niall shouts, jumping to his feet to pull his friend into a fierce embrace. “I have not seen your face in far too long, my friend!”

Louis cackles into Niall’s shoulder, patting him on the back. “I did not think I would see you again for some time. What brings you here?”

“The news travelled to Messina with the new trade. I could barely stand the thought so I arranged to travel. It didn’t take as long as I had expected, perhaps fifteen or sixteen moons? Either way, I am here and I have a proposition for you both.” He pulls back and grins, pressing his fore and middle finger into a bruise on Louis’s neck. “Did I interrupt something?” he winks.

Louis scowls. “Let it alone, Niall. It is not like I have not seen you with much worse on your own skin.”

“Aye, true,” Niall grins. “You look happy anyway. It is good to see you both in good health and as much happiness as you can be given the circumstances, anyway.”

Louis flops onto the sofa next to where Niall was sat. “You too, brother. So news has really travelled all over the land?”

Niall nods. “I heard just rumours but when I was told that Zayn had been taken I did not even think before assembling my galley. Please tell me what has happened?”

Liam sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Well, at first we assumed it was just whisperings and untruths, of course. Why would a threat of this nature be real?”

“I warned him the second I could but it was Zayn himself who said he believed them to be untrue,” Louis tacks on. “The King offered extra security even if it was just a precaution but Zayn declined.”

“Said he didn’t want to be a laughing stock,” Liam says quietly, his bottom lip jutting out. “And for a time it seemed that they were nothing more than simple rumours. Until the attack upon our house.”

“He launched an attack upon your house?” Niall asks incredulously. Liam shakes his head.

“It was more of a warning than an attack in truth,” he tells him. “A messenger came to the door with an alleged gift to me. My slave answered the messenger and took the alleged gift, which was a vase, but the bottom was false and as he took it from the messenger it spilt harmful acid all over his skin. We fear he may be damaged irreparably.”

“He, er, his hands are healing slowly but they are scabbed over and pretty much useless for simple tasks. He will never be able to do much again, not that we’d let him either.”

“Tartarus’s fire,” Niall swears, letting out a long breath. “Is the boy here?”

Louis nods. “Would you like me to fetch him?”

“Have a slave do it,” Niall says, waving his hand to Jade. “Girl, fetch me the slave with the damaged hands.” He turns to Liam, seemingly unaware of both Jade and Louis’s shocked face next to him. “You know, Leigh-Anne has many remedies from her home country that could be helpful if you don’t want to risk losing a slave over it. Was he a decent slave?”

“Um, the very best,” Liam says, staring at Louis’s stunned expression and biting his lip. “The remedies would be excellent if they work but he has already been dismissed from my services because…”

“Well, these may help if you don’t want to spend money on a new one,” Niall says, waving him quiet. Harry enters the room slowly with a yawn and walks over to Louis, his bandaged hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Boy, stand here and do not touch your superiors like that,” Niall hisses, looking at Liam incredulously. Harry hunches over in shock but doesn’t leave Louis’s side like he’s frozen in fear. “You are hurt but remember your place!”

“Niall!” Louis snaps, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist. “Quiet yourself this second. Harry has been dismissed because he is my intended husband, you absolute fool. Do not speak to him like that!”

Niall’s eyes go wide and he claps a hand over his mouth. “By the gods, I… I meant no disrespect… I… why didn’t you say anything?” he whines with a shake of his head. “My sincerest apologies to you, um…?”

“His name is Harry.” Louis narrows his eyes and shuffles up so Harry can sit next to him. Harry is still looking at the floor so he gently knocks his chin up. “Hey, love, it’s fine.”

“Harry, my apologies,” Niall says quickly. “I spoke too fast and I did not wish to offend.” Harry nods nervously, still not used to have people of Niall’s rank speak to him, let alone apologise to him. “And to you too, Louis. That was rude and uncalled for – my wife was a slave girl once too and I would not have her spoken to like that at all, my sincerest apologies.”

“Thank you,” Louis huffs, nodding at Niall graciously. “I should have voiced it sooner that he was my fiancé and not just a slave when Liam first mentioned it.”

“So should I,” Liam says shyly. “I’m sorry you had to endure that, Harry.”

“It is fine,” Harry says, brushing them off. Niall clears his throat nervously.

“If I, er, if I send for my wife from our residence, can I get her to look at your wounds? She has remedies from African soil that may ease the pain better than what we have here.”

“I, um,” Harry says, looking at Louis like he needs his approval.  Louis smiles at him until he nods. “If it will help then I would be very grateful of that. The pain is not as bad as it was but it is more constant now.”

“Of course,” Niall nods hurriedly. “If one of your slaves could ask my slaves to hurry there then she can be here in time for supper.”

Liam gestures for Jade with a grateful smile, covering his grimace from Harry’s unpleasant words. “A thousand thank-yous to you, brother.”

“And now even more reason to plan this attack. Paris has disrespected both my brothers and I cannot stand it.”

Liam’s eyes go wide. “You wish to join our attack?”

“Certainly. Paris has made three very powerful enemies, the insufferable cunt. He needs to be put in his place and I have wanted an excuse to do so for _years.”_

“Niall, we cannot ask for your men…”

“Well, you are getting them. Two thousand are on their way as we speak. I hope that contribution is enough.”

Louis audibly gulps and Liam shakes his head like he doesn’t understand. “Two thousand of your own men? Niall, we simply cannot accept…”

“You can and you will,” Niall huffs. “Listen, Liam, this news spreads like wildfire across the land. People _hate_ Paris and want him dead. What he has done to you is unforgivable and stupid and everyone agrees. He needs to be defeated for the goodness of the empire and I want to help.” He leans back on the sofa and drains his wine. “So there we are. Two thousand men.”

“You are… I cannot… brother,” Liam eventually sighs, leaning forward to clasp Niall’s hands. “You are a grand friend and I cannot tell you in words how grateful I am. You helping to save Zayn’s life is the greatest gift you could give.”

“Do not thank me,” Niall says, gripping his hands back. “I am doing this for both of you but also for my own peace of mind. It needs to be done anyway.”

Louis reaches forward too and the three of them sit with clasped hands for a few minutes, Liam still a little in disbelief at the fact that Niall is really here.

The slaves prepare them suckling pig for their feast and, as they’re settling down to eat, another slave tells them that Leigh-Anne has arrived along with one of her hand maidens. Liam signals her into the room and she curtsies prettily for him as he takes her hand and kisses it. She really is very beautiful, with long black hair past her breasts plaited neatly against her head and in a white and gold robe that sits beautifully against her thin frame. Liam can see why Niall would immediately be drawn to her. She takes a seat next to her husband and introduces herself politely and pretty soon the five of them fall into comfortable chatter, though Harry is still a little reserved.

After their supper, they head to the study and Leigh-Anne carefully unwraps Harry’s hands, dropping the bandages to the floor and gently pressing a remedy-soaked cloth into the skin. Liam winces as he sees how damaged it still is and winces again when he sees Louis staring at it with such sadness. He fears this is a guilt he will never be able to shake.

Leigh-Anne gently washes the remedy off with water before she calls for Perrie for fresh bandages. She wraps them up gently and instructs him to keep washing them with these herbs to treat it regularly. She promises to teach Perrie the technique in the morning and Harry nods and thanks her before he asks if it would be rude to retreat to his room because he is tired and in a lot of pain.

“Of course not, Harry,” Liam says, ignoring the completely irrational pang of jealousy he feels as Louis presses his lips into the back of his neck and murmurs something Liam again can’t make out. “Take all the rest you need.”

“I will join you soon, my love,” Louis says, louder this time. “I will try not to wake you if you are asleep.” They kiss quickly and then Harry shuffles off. Liam clears his throat.

“Perhaps some more wine for us three in the leisure area?” he asks. Niall and Louis both nod.

So after Niall has said goodbye to Leigh-Anne the three of them retreat to the same room they were in before, each of them taking over a long sofa as Jade and Perrie pour them wine. Liam settles back, closing his eyes as he sips at the fruity liquid and almost lets himself imagine that life is getting better.

“Tell me, brother,” Niall says, interrupting the silence. “Did you do something to infuriate Paris again or did this come out of the blue?”

Liam snorts humourlessly. “He has always hated me, Niall, and you know this. He is a jealous fool.”

“I know this, yet don’t you think it seems a little strange that he may have travelled this far across the seas, or at least sent people he trusted enough to carry out such a deed? It is well-known that you and Zayn are happy and Zayn would not have chosen any other, so why steal him now?”

“I know not,” Liam shrugs, because in all honestly he hadn’t put much thought into it. “And frankly I care not either. All I care for is getting him back unharmed and then throwing Paris’s body from the highest cliff I can get it to.”

“Still seems odd to me but I sense now is not the time to dwell on it,” Niall says as he fills up his goblet.  “Louis, speak more to me of your new pairing. I never saw you as one to settle down with a slave, I cannot lie. Not for you but because of your father, you understand?”

Louis clears his throat, a small yet nervous smile playing on his lips. “I do. My father knows not of our relationship and I have no intention of telling him any time soon. I do wish to marry him though so I will have to find a way. Perhaps if I come back a war hero,” he laughs sadly.

Niall reaches over and grips his knee gently. “You should not let your father dictate your happiness. He has been a thorn in your side your whole life, especially in regards to your rank. You would be a good general regardless of his incessant pressing, I hope you know that.”

“You know, I have spoken to him once since this incident occurred,” Louis says bitterly. “On the one hand he is still upset I hang around with that ‘Zeus boy bitch’” he air-quotes sadly, “and on the other hand he cannot wait for me to go to battle for the first time since those rebels invaded us a year ago.”

Niall lets out a long whistle of shock and Liam pretends that that didn’t hurt.

“I hate him,” Louis continues bitterly. “I shouldn’t be so scared to tell him, I am a grown man and a fucking general, by the gods, yet I cannot even tell my father I am happy because I fell for a slave, and one without a cunt, no less.” He sighs. “I only stay close by for my sisters and brother. I care not for anything else to do with the dog.”

“And so you shouldn’t,” Liam croaks. “If my father made a comment about how I shouldn’t have fallen in love with Zayn then I would have paid him no mind and married him anyway. I know our family circumstances are very different, brother, but your father must know you loathe him by now.”

“Yes, but he is such a stickler for respect that he cares not, he only cares that I, as his son, act like a son,” Louis argues. “He would cast me out and I would never see the girls again. I cannot be made to choose between Harry and my family, I cannot.”

“Then absolutely do not,” Niall says. “Give it time. You will not be marrying him before we set off, will you?”

Louis shrugs. “I doubt we will have the time. Also I want Zayn there, so we should wait.”

“He would be so cross if he missed your wedding,” Liam muses, finally cracking a tiny fond smile. “Neither you nor me would ever hear the end of it.”

Louis smiles sadly, pressing his lips together. “By the gods, Liam, I wish he was here so much. I cannot believe how strong you have been through this, brother.”

Liam shakes his head. “I have been weak. I have been weak and I can guarantee Paris knows this. I… I shouldn’t be like this, should I? I have fought battles yet this has rendered me my weakest. How is this fair?”

“It does not matter,” Niall stresses. “It shows you are human, unlike that monstrous piece of shit.”

 

“I don’t feel human,” Liam mumbles. “I feel stupid, like I want to forget but I want to fight, I don’t know.”

“Natural, brother,” Louis says. “I was ready for blood the second I saw Harry on the floor in that acid and that was even before I realised that what I felt for him was love.”

“Well, what a bunch of lovesick fools we turned out to be,” Niall snorts, trying to lighten the mood. “If you would have said to the three of us three years ago that you will all be married to your permanents and stop taking anybody we like to bed we would all have laughed in their faces.”

Liam does crack a smile at that. He does sometimes like to think back to the way the three of them once were when they were stupid teenagers attending their military academy for the first time, taking to bed any slave, any colleague or anyone from the tavern of a night time to their bed without second thought. They had had so much fun, drinking and eating and fucking and laughing but now that life seems a million miles away. Liam almost misses it.

“Simpler times,” Louis says dreamily. “They were the best times, were they not? I cannot believe how much we used to laugh.”

“Wouldn’t go back though, I don’t think,” Niall says, sensing Liam tense even more. “I am content now and I will be fully content when you get your boy back.”

Liam smiles tersely before he stands up, setting his goblet on the table. “Brothers, I fear I am weary. You must be as well, Niall, from your travels. I will have a guard escort you home. Louis, I am sure you wish to return to your love as well.” He reaches forward to clasp Niall’s hand, pulling him up standing and into a quick goodnight hug. “Farewell, brother, I will see you tomorrow, I presume?”

“Aye, that’s right, we do have a siege to plan,” Niall says. “Goodnight brother, thank you ever so for your hospitality.”

Louis simply claps him on the back as he departs the room, going down the corridor towards his and Harry’s shared bedroom. Liam says his final goodbyes to his best friend, waves him off and then calls for Jade.

“Prepare me a bath please, and another jug of wine.”

She hurries off and Liam heads down to his chambers, stripping himself of his sweaty tunic and grabbing his bathing robes.

He sits in the bath until the coals warming the water burn out and his jug of wine is long empty. The moon is high in the sky by the time he steps out, his skin breaking out into goosebumps as the cold water clings to the hairs all over his body.

Another cup of wine later and Liam lies in his bed with his hands covering his eyes, trying both to remember and forget. He isn’t sure which one he wants to cling to more.

*

Harry lies flat on his back, his skin prickling all over and the feeling of arousal sitting heavy in his stomach as Louis bobs his head around his cock, his strong arms pushing Harry’s milky thighs apart. They haven’t done anything like this since before Harry was hurt and each night they’ve gone to sleep tangled in each other, exchanging not much more than sleepy kisses and gentle marks on each other’s skin.

Louis’s fingernails dig into his flesh even more and his wickedly skilled mouth presses down deeper, deep enough for Harry to feel Louis’s throat flutter around the sensitive head on his cock. On instinct, he reaches down to fist his hands into Louis’s soft hair, forgetting for a few simple seconds that he can’t curl his fingers without ripping his scabs off.

He feels the skin break like it’s happening in slow motion and then he’s crying out and bucking up into Louis’s mouth involuntarily as the scabs rip off and blood starts to leak into his bandages. He wails and tries to shuffle up the bed, leaving thin trails of red on the white sheets as he does so.

Louis splutters and pulls off, eyes almost angry until he sees Harry’s bloody hands and his wide green eyes leaking tears at an alarming rate. He hurriedly wipes at his mouth and jumps to his feet, yanking the door open to yell for Perrie.

“Perrie? Jade? Anybody? We need help immediately!” he yells and just seconds later Jade appears, hurrying into the room and gasping as she sees Harry’s hands.

“I… I shall fetch water and Perrie, my lord,” she stammers, hurrying out the room and down towards the kitchens. Louis goes to the bed and pulls Harry’s tunic down so it covers his cock, gently coaxing him to sit up and lean his body weight against his.

“My daft, foolish darling,” he says softly, gently taking the bloodiest of Harry’s hands and untucking the bandage. His scabs stick to it as he unwinds it and Harry cries out again, biting into Louis’s shoulder as he rips one of the largest off completely. “ _Oipho,_ baby, forgive me but it must come off.”

Harry nods and whimpers, taking deep breaths as Perrie finally arrives with a bucket of icy water, Leigh-Anne’s remedy and fresh bandages. She gently manoeuvres him upright and Louis braces his arm across his back to keep him upright as she sets the one hand in the water, tensing herself as Harry cries out and squeezes his eyes together.

“Darling,” Louis says tenderly, running a hand up his side. “You’re doing so well, my darling, just a little longer and you will be wrapped up again.”

“Louis, it hurts,” Harry whimpers, biting into his forearm. “Make it stop, Louis, I want it to stop!”

“I want it to stop too, my love,” Louis says as gently as he can without letting his own voice break. “Just a few more minutes now, I promise.”

Perrie gently rinses his hand as best she can before she pulls it out, patting it gently dry. She unscrews the pot of remedy and gently starts to massage it over the worst of Harry’s burns, wincing herself every time her friend winces.

“Can I have your other hand, Harry?” she asks and Harry whimpers as he moves it so she can unwind the sodden bandage. “Jade?” she calls over her shoulder. “Jade, can you fetch me some more ice water?”

Jade appears about a minute later with more water and Perrie sinks his left hand into the water. He hisses and Louis kisses his temple hard, his hand still rubbing soothing circles into Harry’s side.

“This is my fault,” he murmurs as Perrie drips more drops of the remedy into the wounds. “I should not have asked to pleasure you like that.” He ignores the way Perrie flushes a deep pink because Harry doesn’t seem to have even noticed, instead taking deep, gulping breaths of air.

It takes a few more minutes but eventually Harry’s hands are bandaged and the worst of the bleeding has been stopped. He snuffles weakly into Louis’s shoulder and Louis kisses the crown of his head as Perrie clears up the mess and Jade comes in to clean up the stained floor.

“Leave us, please,” Louis says the second the last of the blood has been mopped up. Jade nods and scuttles out, leaving Louis to gently tug Harry’s tunic off his sweaty body and lie him flat against the pillows before he curls into his side.

“I am sorry,” Harry says after a few minutes of silence. “Nobody has ever touched me like that before and I wanted to feel you and you made it so good that I forgot for a few sweet seconds and then…”

“Hush, baby, do not work yourself up again,” Louis coos. “I understand and I am not angry or cross or upset. We can take our time and try again when it is right, when your hands are less damaged.”

“It feels like… it feels like they will never not be damaged,” Harry hiccups, holding one of his bandaged stumps near his face and jutting his lip out. “I cannot remember what it is like not to hurt. I just wanted to feel _happy_ for a second.”

Louis sighs and curls closer. “Am I not making you happy?” he asks, his arm snaking out to tug Harry flush to him. “What can I do to make you happy, my love?”

“I…” Harry sniffs, “you do make me happy, Louis, I swear. I just… I want it to not hurt, I want..” He sniffs again. “I want to feel like you aren’t simply with me because we were on the cusp of something when I was hurt.”

Louis’s eyes grow wide with confusion and hurt and he scrabbles up so he’s looming over him. “You think that’s the reason I am with you?”

Harry doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Harry, look at me,” Louis says pleadingly. “Harry, I love you.”

“Are you certain?” Harry asks. “Are you certain you are not just here because Liam threatened you if you ever hurt me?”

Louis gapes at him. “Do you really think that little of me?”

Harry sniffs again. “Well, can you blame me? I am still struggling to understand why you would wish to pair with me of all people!” He rubs at his face with his bandage. “You keep speaking of making me your husband yet this is the first time you declare love. Forgive me if I am just a naïve slave but I do not understand.”

“Harry,” Louis murmurs, resting their foreheads together. “I have realised that what I felt for you was love since I saw you on the ground. It would sadden me greatly to see anyone there but to see _you_ there, to see my beautiful boy lying there in pain and agony… I have never wanted to hurt anyone or anything more in my life than I wanted to hurt that messenger. And now Paris. I love you so much.”

“But why?” Harry croaks meekly. Louis sighs and ducks down to kiss him, slow and deep, his thumb smoothing over the worried creases around Harry’s eyes.

“Tell me you do not feel it too,” he says as he pulls back. “There is something between us so strong, is there not?”

“I suppose…”

“Does it matter why I love you? For I cannot explain my draw to you but I knew I was, and now I have spoken to you, held you, _kissed_ you… I cannot get enough. I don’t _want_ to ever get enough.”

“But what if you do? What if you change your mind? What if my hands never heal and I can never hold you properly, Louis? Will you not leave me for someone who can?”

Louis kisses him again. “Any number of things could happen, darling, couldn’t they? I don’t want to ever not love you and I will certainly not leave you because of your injuries, you have my word on that.”

“So you mean it when you say you want to make me your husband?” Harry asks timidly. “It is not simply to placate Liam?”

“By the gods, no!” Louis says, staring down at him with confused eyes. “Did you really not believe me?”

“I want to,” Harry whispers. “I want you here always and I want you to kiss my hands and tell me you love me forever, I do want that. But sometimes I am scared that you won’t.” He sighs. “You have to understand, Louis, this has not been easy for me to accept either.”

“How do you mean, darling?”

Harry pauses for a few moments. “Liam is by no means a cruel master. I feel truly blessed to have served in his house. But even though our master was fair and kind, we still know our standing. We are still slaves, we are still below you. Even if you are kind, you still demand things of us and talk to us in a certain way. In General Gregorus’s household, there was an incident where he ended the life of a slave because the wine was served at the wrong temperature. That is a constant fear for us all! We are not people, we are commodities! Look at how Niall spoke to me when he thought I was simply a slave and then how that changed when you defended me.”

“Niall married a slave girl too, he understands,” Louis argues.

“No, you don’t,” Harry says back, sighing frustratedly. “I am only spoken to as an equal now because you made it so. Without you I would still be a slave. Yes, I would probably not be working now because I am still unwell but eventually I would have to. And now people speak to me as equals, when a few weeks back before we were committed they felt it was perfectly okay to speak to me like I am worthless. Do you know how it feels to only be important because someone wants to fuck you?”

“Harry…”

“I have been a slave my whole life, I know no different. And yet now I have this new position am I expected to talk down to slaves? I have known Perrie since we were both babes in arms, how can I possibly speak with her as if she is not my equal? And you are certainly not my equal and yet you wanted to take me in your mouth for nothing in return when you could demand it in seconds from a whore in a tavern or even someone from the street, probably. You cannot just assume I will take this in my stride immediately.”

“Of course we are eq-“

And the worst part is,” Harry snuffles, “that if we cannot marry, or if you come back from this war and you decide you do not want me or you have found someone else, or your father finds out then what of me? I just return to work here? While my friends who I have known my whole life give me looks of pity because General Louis of York suddenly decided he didn’t want a simple slave boy?”

“Harry, why are you thinking these thoughts?” Louis says sadly, running his thumb gently under Harry’s eyes to stifle the falling tears. “What has caused them?”

“Because I love you too,” Harry whines like it’s something he’s almost ashamed of. “I love you so much and that is so scary. Because I have made myself so vulnerable and I…”

“I love you so much,” Louis interrupts weakly.

“But why?” Harry implores again. “Why when when you met me I was simply a commodity? What can I possibly offer you?”

“You love me, do you not?” Louis says, his hand gently brushing aside a few of the stray curls on Harry’s forehead.

“I do, but...”

“No buts, my darling. You already offer me something I have had for nobody else. I want you to be _you._ I am not expecting you to change yourself for your rank, of course I am not. These are your friends, speak to them as you would before. I just want you to be happy. I want to give you the world but if you don’t want it then that is okay too. And we are equals in love, I promise you this. It will take time but we will get there; I want to get there with you, anyway.”

“Will you tell me you love me again?” Harry asks timidly.

“I love you a lot, my beautiful boy,” Louis says, ducking down to kiss him again. “I will tell you as often as you need to hear it.”

“You sound and you kiss sincerely,” Harry mumbles, tracing over his lip with his bandage. “I hope one day to understand. But I love you as well. I love you very much.”

Louis grins widely and kisses him deeper, his tongue exploring Harry’s mouth and his hands cupping his whole face.

“May I make a promise with you then?”

Harry nods.

“If we still feel this way after the war, which I can almost guarantee I will, then I will ask you to marry me properly. You can say no, of course, but if you say yes then we shall wed as soon as we can. Does this sound reasonable?”

“You would ask to marry me immediately after returning? After we have not seen each other for so long?”

Louis purses his lips. “I was… I am unsure how to ask this, love, but I was, um, hoping that you would accompany me.” Harry’s eyes go wide. “You can of course say no if you do not feel healed or rested…”

“I am to come with you?” Harry squeaks. “But I am so slow and clumsy, I would slow you up.”

“Then I will walk at the back with you,” Louis hums. “I cannot be so long without you, Harry. You do not have to say yes now but please think about it. I understand it is a lot to ask.”

“I do not want to be without you either but I’m scared,” Harry says. “I am not one for wars.”

“Take your time, love,” Louis says, settling himself down so he’s curled back into Harry’s side once more. “Think about it and let me know when you are ready.”

“Thank you,” Harry mumbles. “Thank you, I…”

“Hush, baby boy,” Louis says gently, pulling the sheets up over their tangled bodies. “We are both tired and emotional. Please sleep for me, just for a while, perhaps until supper.”

“Okay,” Harry says quietly, shifting his arm so Louis could slide out if he wanted. “Will you join me when you are ready?”

“I am joining you now, you silly fool.”

Harry furrows his brows. “But you will likely be needed by Liam and Niall.”

“I’ll sort that later, love. I want to nap with you for now.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry says quietly, tugging Louis even closer to him. “If you’re sure.”

“Love you, darling,” Louis murmurs, tightening his grip around Harry’s middle.

It takes very little for Harry to fall asleep and Louis can’t help but stare down at the boy in his arms and, instead of napping, he lets his mind race with the hundreds of ways he just wants to prove to Harry that he really does love him.

*

Sixteen days after Niall’s arrival, his army arrives.

The whole process of getting just shy of two thousand men set up in their barracks makes the whole process seem a little more real yet Liam still feels unprepared and more scared than he would care to admit. He still feels as if the right thing to do would simply be to take his own men and try to conduct a surprise siege but both Louis and the King are adamant that that would be almost certain death.

So Liam carries on, planning and organising supplies and conducting route maps with Niall and Louis. It’s possibly the toughest conquest he has ever had to organise because there are just so many foot soldiers – about ten thousand in total – so taking them all at once is a huge risk.

They have planned to divide the men up into groups of four depending on their strength and agility. The three main generals will march with the first group and they will be around a day apart each. Liam has enough _taxiarchos_ underneath him to control the remaining three groups so all should arrive to Troy relatively safely and with minimal loss.

The main question on everybody’s lips now is when they will set off. Anaxidamus is still adamant to keep it until the first bloom of springtime but Liam is certain he cannot wait that long. He feels himself getting angrier every day and so he drinks more to staunch the pain, something which Niall and Louis chastise him for on the regular when he does not focus properly on the battle plans.

Their question is answered just three days later when a mighty thunderstorm rips across the Spartan sky, sending lightning of all colours flashing and crashing through the clouds.

Liam wakes up to it that morning and almost immediately knows what he must do. Whenever Zeus wanted to speak with his son he would cause a mighty thunderstorm to rage through the city and Zayn would put on his special necklace and rings from his father and then hurry to the temple in the middle of the city. People would leave immediately so the two could speak in private and even Liam had only attended these conversations once, just after their wedding day.

But now, Liam senses it is he that Zeus wishes to communicate with. He jumps to his feet and rings the bell for Jade to prepare him a bath immediately, running  a nervous hand through his hair as he does so.

Once she appears, he barks his instructions at her with more force than he really means to. “I need a bath heated as fast as possible, and fetch Aiden now to prepare me some fine robes and get the kitchens to make me a fast meal!”

She looks panicked but scuttles off and Liam curses under his breath as another crash of lightening fills the sky. He has never been a fan of thunderstorms, has actually quite despised them since he was caught in one with his sisters when he was just a boy, but if this is anything close to a channel of communication with his husband then he’ll run through a hundred of them.

An hour later, he is bathed and fed, adorning robes of fine silk and jewellery of fine pewter. He has smudged dark kohl under his eyes and combed his damp fringe from his eyes, hoping his appearance is decorated enough.

Louis finds him in the main corridor, his hands loosely clutching one of Harry’s bandaged ones. He gives Liam a look and Liam nods slowly.

“ _Oipho,_ Liam, I wish you all the luck in the world,” Louis says quietly. “Are you going to the temple?”

“Aye, that’s right. I am scared, brother, but it must be so.”

“Be strong and we will speak when you return,” Louis assures, dropping Harry’s hand to hug him fiercely.

Liam nods and watches the pair disappear towards the dining rooms before he sighs and goes to find his guards, instructing them quickly where he must go.

It takes a while to get to the temple because Liam cannot go anywhere anymore without being flanked with guards and the streets are not as empty as one would expect during a thunderstorm, what with it also being market day. Pushing through the crowds, the guards get Liam there eventually and after he’s thanked them and instructed them to wait outside, he opens the door with shaky hands and hurries inside.

The temple is very beautiful and very cold as the door slams behind him. There is an eerie silence and it feels very strange being here without Zayn, but he does what Zayn had told him to do the last time they were here. He steps forward in front of the large statue of his father in law, gets down onto his knees and bows his head, bringing the necklace that Zayn wore to his lips and kissing it gently.

There’s a moment of utter silence and then the statue starts creaking slowly, its stone limbs stretching out almost comically as Zeus’s spirit overtakes it. It rolls its neck from side to side and then the eyes open, looking so realistic that Liam jumps.

“Almighty Zeus,” Liam croaks out, bowing close to the floor and clutching Zayn’s necklace in his trembling hand. “I am so, so, so sorry, I have failed you.”

“I do not wish to hear your apologies,” Zeus booms. “You have not failed me, you have failed Zayn. He asked something of you and you ignored him.” Liam hangs his head. “Yet you not listening to him may have saved your life, Liam.”

Liam dares to move his head up slightly. “It did?”

“Yes,” Zeus says. “If you had not snuck out then I venture you would have had your throat cut like your guards did.”

“What would you have me do, almighty one?” Liam asks. “I will do anything to claim him back, I swear it.”

Zeus lets out what Liam assumes is a sigh. “Liam, Paris is a dangerous man. This is not a task I wish for you to undertake lightly. My son is alive, I can promise, and he has arrived in Troy unharmed. Poseidon made sure the seas were kind to his voyage.”

“That was fast,” Liam notes.

“He did not have a big party sent to Sparta, perhaps thirty at most. How many men have you got in yours?”

“I have ten thousand troops ready to march,” Liam croaks, taking a shaky breath because _Zayn is alive and safe._ “We can march whenever you command us to, if you wish to command us.”

“You know if you march soon then you will hit the winter months?” Zeus says. Liam nods.

“I do not wish to put my troops at risk, of course, but in strategy I had thought that they will not be expecting an attack then, will they not?”

“That is not bad reasoning, Liam. Troy is a walled city and it requires a lot of food and resources from trade, so I agree that striking then may be favourable.” He scratches his beard. “I cannot interfere in your world directly, of course, yet I do have part control of the weather. If you can promise me that you can march your fleet there before the worst of winter, then I will make the weather as sympathetic to your situation as I can.”

Liam lets out a heavy sigh. “Thank you, o mighty one, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

“My son loves you very much, Liam,” Zeus says. “I cannot bear the sadness in his eyes.”

“Is he in good health?” Liam asks desperately. “Is Paris treating him poorly? Is he in shackles or… or?”

“He is as okay as he can be,” Zeus interrupts, holding up his hands to shush him. “Paris has him in a luxurious room with a beautiful view of the city. He is privy to the best foods and the best oils for bathing.”

Liam lets out an involuntary growl.

“But he is miserable,” Zeus continues. “And if he is miserable then so goes down Paris’s favour with us. He is a fool and, just between you and I, I cannot wait for him to be dealt with.”

“I can assure you, he will be dealt with very thoroughly,” Liam snarls. “Is there a way for me to message him through you at all or is that not allowed? I need him to know I am coming for him and that I love him with my all.”

“I should not but I shall,” Zeus says. “He is miserable as I have said and I think he would do better with this knowledge. What would you have me say?”

“That… that I love him more than the moon loves the stars and that I am coming for you, _agape mou,_ I am coming for you, no matter how long it takes. I don’t…”

“He will understand,” Zeus reassures. “I must go now, I have been on earth too long. If we need to speak again expect three bolts of lightning in the sky at once. Set off as soon as you can, Liam, and I will make it favourable. Goodbye.”

The statue slowly creaks back into place and then goes still again, leaving Liam there in the silence once more. He has to take several deep breaths before he can stand again, scrubbing a hand over his face as he takes in the conversation he just had.

Zeus is on their side, which gives them a giant advantage, of course, but more importantly, he urged them to leave as soon as possible. This means that as long as Anaxidamus agrees, they can likely leave in the next seven days. The thought leaves him almost giddy as he stands to his feet and refastens his cloak, hurrying outside to his guards.

He rushes to his study the second he’s back inside his property, making Louis almost jump and Niall swear loudly.

“By the gods, Liam, what on Gaia’s earth…?”

“My meeting with Zeus…” Liam pants, dropping his sodden cloak to the ground. “We have…” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “I spoke with Zeus and we came to an arrangement. He says he will make the weather favourable if we leave as soon as we can. I know that may seem impossible but he has told me that Zayn is miserable and he is willing to interfere enough to give us as safe of a journey as he can. But he wants us to leave _soon_.”

Louis and Niall just stare at him.

“I am not telling untruths,” Liam snaps frustratedly. “He says Zayn has arrived safe and sound, thank all the gods, but he is unhappy and he wants Paris punished as soon as can be done. So we leave soon, do you understand?”

“I… yes, but Liam…”

“We know the routes, we have the men,” Liam cries. “What is stopping us?”

“Well, to begin with we need you to breathe,” Niall says, dropping the map onto the table and going over to Liam. He tugs him towards the sofa and then gently pushes him down by the shoulders so he’s sat down. “Explain to us this meeting carefully so we can both understand it all.”

Liam takes several deep breaths, reaching forward for the cup of wine on the table in front of him and chugging in three swift gulps. “There is not much to say – it was pretty short because he cannot be in our world too long. But he says he wishes us to leave as soon as we can. Zayn is not being mistreated, I can at least take solace in that, but it is clear that Paris is trying to win his favour by treating him like a prince. Not that he doesn’t deserve to but you get why I am distressed.”

“Of course we can but are you certain he wants us to leave? Are you sure that is not just your desperation speaking?”

“It is not my desperation!” Liam spits. “Yes, I am desperate but why would I tell lies about what the almighty Zeus has told me?”

Both Louis and Niall take deep breaths. “Okay, that is understandable,” Niall says slowly. “But do you think we are prepared enough to leave in the next, say, ten days?”

Louis rummages through the desk and pulls open the map. “I… we could potentially, you know. We have the reserves in storage and the men at hand. If we just make sure we have the ships then we could sail in that time.”

“Are… what, really?” Liam asks, surprised. “I was certain we would not be and we would have much more to prepare.”

Louis’s ears go pink. “We… er, we have done nearly all the planning, actually.”

“Without me?”

“Liam, this is not meant to offend but you have not been much use at planning,” Niall says with a nervous laugh. “You have been either too drunk or too angry.”

“So we have done much of it without you,” Louis says tensely. “We did not… we do not mean to take over but you were upset and stressed and we wanted to ease your burden.”

“So we are nearly all prepared?” Liam asks, hands wringing together nervously. Niall nods. “And you thought I would be angry at you speeding up the process of me getting my husband back?”

“Well, if you are going to word it like that it sounds like a foolish concern,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “But it is your battle. We tried to take care of as much of it as we could but yes, we are almost set.”

“Brothers,” Liam says dumbly. “If you mean this then you are the two greatest friends I have ever known.”

“We already knew that,” Louis snorts, coming over and clasping Liam on the shoulder. “So are you okay with this? Leaving soon if we get the final command from the King?”

“Aye,” Niall says, putting his hands on Liam’s face. “You’re getting your boy back, brother.”

Liam smiles up at them dopily in disbelief and appreciation. “Yes, yes I am,” he croaks. “Shall we go to the King now?”

Both his brothers nod and so he stands to his feet, picking his cloak off the floor before he calls for his guards. Aiden hurries in and prepares Niall and Louis’s armour and then they set off to the palace.

The resounding clap of thunder that crashes through the air as they traipse out of the palace an hour later with King Anaxidamus’s approval is enough to make Liam smile a little. It’s only the beginning, he knows, but he’s got the upper hand and if all goes to right then he’s one step closer to getting his Zayn back.


	4. The Tragedies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Zayn has a lot to deal with and Liam finally sets off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apógonos tou Olýmpou - descendant of Olympus. 
> 
> Time for Zayn's POV at last, enjoy!

Zayn wakes up feeling cold every morning.

His rooms are big and very lavishly decorated with fine artworks and the bed is wide with plush pillows and soft sheets but it’s all wrong – it’s empty and it’s so _cold_ that that he almost feels like crying when he wakes up and realises with a sad jolt of reality that Liam isn’t next to him. He is well aware that he could have his capture much worse (he has watched from his balcony as people are dragged through the castle gates and flogged and sometimes worse in front of his very eyes) but even with that knowledge it doesn’t really make him feel much better.

He just needs to know if Liam is safe, which is something he fears he will be told the opposite later today. He curses the gods that he wasn’t able to get a last look at him as he was snatched but one hand was slapped over his eyes and another over his mouth as his wrists were bound in ropes. He tried to lash out and scream for Liam, for Louis, for _anyone,_ but the hands were too strong and they caught him when he was not quite awake, rendering him useless and an easy target.

He has only cried twice since his capture and being dragged like a prisoner through his own city, marching blindly and humiliatingly forward out of his home in the dead of night was the first time. Every time a sob was loud enough for him to be heard he’d get a slap; the louder he tried to cry out, the harsher the slaps.

He doesn’t remember how they got out the city undetected, partly because his body was seconds away from giving up and slumping and falling into a deep slumber where he could pretend he was still in his bed with his husband’s warm body pressed around him, and partly because he was rendered blind and almost deaf, unable to hear much over the thumping of his rapid heartbeat against his ribcage.

When he woke next, it was daylight and he was in a speeding carriage. His wrists were unbound and his eyes were uncovered so he blinked stupidly for a few moments, trying to gather his bearings. 

"The son of Zeus is awake," a voice across from him says. He snapped his head up and glared at the figure, a man dressed in robes similar to what Liam would wear, but that's where the similarities immediately ended. He was thuggish and stout and his eyes were piercing and unkind. His mouth was set in a tight line, almost smirking at him as Zayn ran a hand through his messy hair. "Good morning, Zayn of Olympus."

"It's Zayn of Sparta," Zayn croaks out, trying to make his rusty, sleep heavy voice sound as menacing as he can. "I reside in Sparta now. That city is my home, my title and my happiness." He tries to sit himself up but that’s when he notices his ankles are shackled and the chain attached to the floor by a hook, rendering any attempts of escape completely futile.

"I see," the man drawls in an almost bored tone. "I venture you should get used to being Zayn of Olympus now for Sparta is no longer your home."

"Sparta _is_ my home and you brutes taking me will never stop that," Zayn spits. "I command you to stop this carriage and return me."

The man snorts and there's a ripple of laughter through the other men in the carriage. Zayn tugs his sleep robes around his frame self-consciously. 

"Listen, Zayn, you are a son of Zeus so you do require a certain amount of respect when you're spoken to but I did not think a son of Zeus would be so _stupid_." The man rolls his eyes. "By coming away from Olympus, you made yourself human. You also made yourself part of a contest for your hand."

"Which my Liam won fair and square," Zayn snaps. 

"Your Liam," the man drawls, "is a cheat and a manipulator. Paris travelled farther and trained harder than any man on Gaia's Earth for your hand and yet you rejected him without a second look."

"Paris is a disgusting man," Zayn replies. "I would sooner throw myself off a ship in a storm before I take his hand." 

"You would do well to accept, I would think," the man says coldly. "Paris has put many months of planning and much gold into claiming what is rightfully his. It would be very disrespectful of you to refuse him."

"As disrespectful as it was when you had a messenger burn the hands of a close friend and then have me taken from my bed?" Zayn asks incredulously. "You are a fool. Who even are you?"

The man's chest swells a little in pride as he speaks. "I am General Marcus of Troy, second in command to General Paris's legions. He would trust few else with a task as important as this."

Zayn almost laughs. "This is absurd. He sends his best general to take me but for what ends? I will never love him, let alone marry him. What does he want?"

Marcus's face tightens. "Your husband caused him much disrespect that day, Zayn. He has been wronged in the contest and now he is righting that wrong. What is there not to understand?"

"Why have you not yet understood that this contest is not still going on?" Zayn shouts. "My Liam and Paris were of equal standing at that time and it was my choice to have Liam. Perhaps if Paris had not been so rude..."

"Paris said to us that you seemed to have made your decision even before he had spoken a word," Marcus interrupts. "The only explanation is that Liam manipulated you in a way that made you choose him. What could he possibly offer you that Paris could not? Paris is richer, has finer robes and foods. And not to mention the gold, gold beyond your wildest dreams, even."

"If I cared for that then I wouldn't have chosen my Liam, or left Olympus for that matter!" Zayn spits. "I chose Liam because he was there for the right reasons, not the reasons that Paris holds - so he can bed a son of Zeus and gain his favour back with the gods."

"It is funny that you keep referring to him as your Liam when he is no longer," Marcus says in an almost bored tone, pulling a stray hair off his robes. 

"Just because you have taken me doesn't mean I am no longer Liam's," Zayn snaps, his own chest swelling a little bit with the pride that he can at least hold that knowledge dear to him in his capture. "All that can separate us is the gods above."

"What about death?" Marcus asks nonchalantly. "If your precious Liam was dead, would you still be his?"

Zayn's blood runs cold. 

"Did you hear me, Zayn?" Marcus says, his voice completely emotionless.

“Would he still be your Liam if I told you that Kamos here," he gestures to one of the men sitting opposite, "beat him until his brains were seen and then left his body for your dogs to eat? Would he?"

"You are lying," Zayn rasps, his voice thick with the tears threatening to spill. "Liam lives still, you are _lying_ , man."

"Why would I lie?" Marcus questions. "That would do little to help my favour with Zeus."

"I-if my L-Liam were d-dead, I would k-know it," Zayn says, trying to sound confident but failing as a tear drops down his cheek. He wipes it away with his hand hurriedly. "H-he is n-not dead, I k-know it."

"How can you know it?" Marcus sneers. "We are already so far from Sparta - a day’s trek, maybe - where his body lays cold and the city mourns. Mourns the loss of its greatest general and only the loss of the son of Zeus because of the favour it provides."

"That's n-not t-true," Zayn stammers, wanting nothing more than to curl up into a ball and sob. "My Liam is a-alive, h-he is!"

"Repeating your wish will not bring him back," the brute Kamos says suddenly. He reaches forward to grab Zayn's chin between his thumb and forefinger. "He was hardly the general I was told he would be. Went down easily; there was very little fight in him."

"You're all liars!" Zayn hisses, yanking his face out of Kamos's grasp. "Do not touch me and do not tell me lies! Liam is not dead and he will have all of your heads!"

There's a resounding cackle of laughter in the carriage that leaves Zayn feeling sick.

"And you intend to prove this to be true how?" Marcus says cruelly. "Zayn, you are simply going to have to get used to the idea that Liam wasn't quite the champion that you took him to be. It is fine, we all make mistakes. We are all human, after all." The final sentence is said with extra bite, making Zayn feel infinitely worse. If he has never left Olympus then this would not have happened, it is _his_ fault that Liam is dead. But _he's not dead_ , he cannot be dead; Zayn knows he would know his death, would be able to feel it from a thousand miles away and further. 

"Liam is a hundred times the man any of you will ever be," he shouts, his whole body shaking as he tries to fight back the looming tears. "He lives on and he will fight for me, I know it." He takes several deep breaths after his outburst, trying to pull his robes even tighter around him. 

There’s a pause in which nobody speaks but the silence is almost deafening as Zayn tries to compose himself, ignoring the way the others are exchanging glances of glee.

"You know the little mole that Liam had behind his ear?" Kamos says conversationally after Zayn's stopped gulping for air. Zayn's head snaps up and his eyes are wide as he nods hesitantly. The mole is hidden right Liam's left earlobe, something he himself only noticed about nine months into their marriage just one bright morning as Liam slept on his side in front of him. He really thinks he might be sick. "It's small, isn't it?" Kamos continues with a smirk. "Who knew it would come off completely with a hard enough hit?"

"Shut up," Zayn says weakly, hands trembling as he hugs his arms around himself. "You took a lucky guess about the mole."

"Did I?" Kamos says, voice laced with a fake sweetness. "Left ear, right under his earlobe, about the size and shape as a blueberry?"

"Shut up!" Zayn hisses again, bile rising in his throat. "S-shut up, it is..."

"When you knock someone down, you aim for the side of their neck second, after the initial blow to the head," Kamos says, leaning into Zayn's space again. "I have heard rumours that skin blemishes like a mole will simply drop off a dead man's skin if you hit hard enough but never have I stayed around long enough to check. Your husband needed a couple of hits besides that one but he went down eventually. Three hits to the head and one to the side of his neck, just hard enough to rip the mole from his skin. He died well, I must say, better than Marcus made out to you."

"Enough!" Zayn roars, kicking at Kamos hard enough to send him falling back into his seat. "I refuse to believe that there is truth to your words. If Liam was really dead my father would have me know it. Get away from me and do not come near me again."

"Or what?" Marcus scoffs, ignoring the fact that Kamos managed to look afraid for a second, rubbing his leg where the metal of Zayn’s chains had snagged his skin. "You shall tell your precious _dead_ husband that we have touched you? What is to be done?”

“Never touch me again,” Zayn repeats, curling up as best he can in the uncomfortable carriage seat. “Stop telling me lies and stop trying to cause me pain. _That_ is what will earn you no favours with the gods.”

“It is not a lie,” Marcus says, sighing exasperatedly like he’s dealing with a child. “And I think you would do well to speak better to the one in charge of what you do eat and where you sleep. Have some respect.”

Zayn glares. “I loathe and detest having to use my father’s name like a child yet I think it would do you good to remember who he is, General.”

Marcus scoffs. “And what will come of it? We all know that Zeus has little for us recently. All he is good for is making very beautiful children, it seems, even if the beautiful child is a little cunt.”

“You expect my respect and appreciation when you speak to me like that?”

Marcus opens his mouth to retort but then a clap of thunder sounds through the muggy carriage and they all jump. Zayn leans back in his seat and grins to himself, feeling slightly smug about the fact that Marcus has just shown he’s all bark but no bite. He still feels like he’s going to throw up but now he knows his father is on his side and ready to help fight for him he feels a lot less afraid.

“What did you do?” he hisses at Zayn instead. “How did you do that?”

“I did nothing,” Zayn says defensively. “I am but a mere mortal when here on Gaia’s earth, am I not?”

“You insolent…”

Another clap of thunder ricochets through the carriage and the men all jump again.

“Is this really what we must go through to get you to Troy?” Kamos shouts. “Marcus, we were not told that Zeus would intervene!”

“I did not think that this would happen either!” Marcus retorts, scrubbing a nervous hand across his face. “I was not instructed what to do in a situation like this.”

“General, I will have to ask the driver to stop the horses if this weather continues,” another of the men who has not yet spoken says. Zayn assumes he must be a handler. “The other carriages appear to be slowing too.”

“He will stop if you speak to me like a human and not simply a prize,” Zayn hisses over the now pounding rain hammering down on the top of the carriage. “I am your prisoner but I am also unsure that Paris would be most impressed with you speaking down to me.”

Marcus glares at him but eventually relents. “Very well, if that is what it takes.” He sighs. “Perhaps I have been too harsh. I am not used to talking to prisoners well.”

Zayn snorts. “Oh, I see, that’s what it is,” he drawls sarcastically. “A petty excuse, man. You should be scared because you have angered Zeus and you are too nonchalant about this.” Marcus looks taken aback by Zayn’s sudden burst so he takes the opportunity to barrel on. “You should talk to me with respect, Marcus of Troy, because not only am I not just your prisoner but I am a son of Zeus and yes, I may be beautiful but I am also a human and _not_ simply a prize. You would do well to remember that I have a lot of power and I can completely change your favour with the gods. Do not speak to me as you have before or I will make sure your life back in Troy is unpleasant, do you understand?”

Marcus looks a mix between terrified and exasperated. “As you wish, Zayn.”

Kamos shakes his head. He looks rather more terrified than Marcus (he has the same look of fear on his face that Liam usually dons during a thunderstorm, Zayn notices bitterly) and reaches forward as if to grab Zayn’s hand before he thinks better of it and slinks back into his seat. “My apologies, Zayn,” he croaks out nervously. “Please do make this weather stop and I shall do your bidding for the rest of our journey.”

“You can stop grovelling for a start,” Zayn says, eyebrows furrowed as he pulls himself as far out of Kamos’s potential grasp. “And do not call me Zayn. Zayn is what my friends and husband know me as. Know me as… _apógonos tou Olýmpou_ for that is what I am.”

Marcus is staring at him like he has gone insane. “You think you can command this much power all of a sudden? You _are_ still our prisoner, I do not…”

“Oh, shut up,” Zayn interrupts sharply. “We both know what my father is capable of and that is even without me speaking to him directly. Imagine what could happen if I do.”

Marcus does look a little green at that.

“Let it be known that you are all to address me as _apógonos tou Olýmpou_ then,” Zayn continues. “Can I know how long the journey is, at least?”

“Not short, perhaps a month,” grunts Marcus. “It depends on how agreeable the weather is and how calm the seas.”

“The… the seas?” Zayn gulps nervously.

Marcus scoffs as if the nerves in Zayn’s voice have helped him regain his composure. “Yes, we must sail, of course. Surely with a teaching like yours you must have known that Troy lay across the waters?”

“Of course I did,” Zayn snaps. “I have been to Troy before.”

Marcus’s eyes glint cruelly. “Oh, are you afraid? Is that it?”

“Quiet,” Zayn hisses back, glaring. “The seas will be favourable if you treat me well, I can almost guarantee.” He can’t guarantee, of course; by leaving Olympus he was sworn to leave most of his ties behind but he hopes he sounds convincing.

Marcus seems placated though because he sits back down and doesn’t speak another word, instead strikes up a conversation with the rest of the men in the carriage.

That night, they stop over at a small village just a mile or so off the main track. Zayn was scooped off the carriage and lead still-shackled towards the hut he was to sleep in. He was handed fresh robes and he changed grudgingly, knowing his sleep robes were completely inappropriate for travel but also reluctant to hand over one of the few things keeping him (although rather fleetingly, he admits to himself) to Sparta and Liam.

He tries to sleep on the uncomfortable small straw bed but it’s chilly and it’s bare, the overwhelming urge to hold another body in his arms gnawing at his bones and making him feel sick to the stomach.

He thinks about it now, from where he’s lying in his wide, luxurious bed, wrapped up almost entirely in the sheets like a cocooned butterfly reluctant to leave where it’s safe. He can hear Eleanor and Sophia milling around him but he doesn’t want to let them know he’s awake yet in case this means he’s summoned sooner and that is something he wants to put off for as long as possible.

Eventually though, he feels a gentle hand shake at his shoulder and Eleanor’s nervous voice calling his name to wake him. He feigns an awakening, letting his eyes flutter open and a yawn escape his mouth. He rolls over to see Eleanor’s sheepish grin and he smiles back, scrubbing a hand over his face to knock the sleep out of his eyes.

“Good morning, Master,” Eleanor says softly, bowing her head. “I am terribly sorry I had to wake you.”

“No troubles, Eleanor,” Zayn says as he hauls himself into a sitting position. “Have I been summoned?”

Eleanor nods, wincing as she does so. “Yes, sir. Master Paris wants to speak with you about… well, about the proof he has for you.”

Zayn feels sick again.

“He says that I am to dress you well and to bring you to his quarters as soon as I can,” she continues, her eyes no longer meeting his. “My lord, I…”

“Thank you, Eleanor,” he says quickly, cutting her off because he does not want her pity. “I appreciate it. Is my bath ready?”

“Aye,” she nods. “Sophia has prepared it just as you like it.”

“Very well,” Zayn says, accepting the bathing robes she offers him. “I thank you both.”

She bows and turns away so Zayn can dress himself without feeling self-conscious. He has a lot of time and trust for Eleanor and Sophia both, but he is still a little reluctant to let anyone that isn’t his husband see him naked. With that in mind, he pulls the silky robes onto his body and follows Eleanor to the bathing rooms where he sinks into the warm water and begins to wash himself, fear and nerves for today sitting hot and heavy in his belly.

He never thought he had it in him to hate a person but he finds Paris is a very easy exception to make. Their first conversation happened the day Zayn was brought into Troy, tired and weary and hungry. The first thing he notices is how wealthy Paris is, for his houses stand tall and within their own set of gates, second only to the palace of the King a few streets away.

The second thing that Zayn notices is that how much of an unpleasant, rude and barbaric man Paris is.

Without even being offered the chance to eat or relieve himself, Zayn is directed towards Paris’s private quarters by two new guards. He’s told to enter without actually knowing where he’s being taken and the door is slammed behind him unceremoniously. He swallows thickly and runs a nervous hand through his hair until he hears a throat clear behind him, making him jump.

“The ever-beautiful Zayn of Sparta is still as beautiful as I remember even after near a month of travelling,” the voice says. Zayn wraps his arms around his chest self-consciously.

“Paris,” he says coldly. “I would say it is a pleasure to see you again and yet we both know that is a lie.”

Paris laughs as if Zayn had told him the funniest joke he has ever heard. “You are still reluctant to accept that you rightfully belong to me then?”

“I belong to nobody,” Zayn snaps, incredulous. “Liam is my husband, not my master.”

“But he won you, did he not? Took you as his prize?”

“I fancy I took him as my prize, actually,” Zayn says. “We both earned what we took. And in a choice between you and him, it would take a man of little intelligence to not see that he is a prize and you are not.”

Paris’s face tightens angrily. “Is that any way to greet your future husband, Zayn? Did your past one teach you no manners?”

Zayn laughs humourlessly. “You are not my future husband, Paris. You have taken me, yes, but it does not mean that I will learn to feel things for you.”

“Come now,” Paris says, waving Zayn’s comment aside. “You are weary, you know not what you are saying.”

“I know what I am…”

“Some wine, perhaps?” Paris interrupts. “Perhaps some chicken and vegetables? You must be very hungry.”

Zayn opens his mouth to continue snapping but his stomach betrays him and rumbles loudly, making him snap it close and just nod. Paris nods back and rings a bell from a table in the centre of the room and one of the guards opens the door.

“Send down to the kitchens for a meal for us both,” Paris shouts to him. “Wine too.”

“Yes, my lord,” the guard replies and hurries out again. Zayn feels incredibly uneasy as Paris puts the bell back on the table and then gestures for Zayn to sit on one of the plush sofas, where he takes a seat apprehensively.

“How was your travel?” Paris asks, as if Zayn wasn’t plucked from his bed and shackled to the carriage and then taken on sea for a month. “Were my men satisfactory in making you as comfortable as possible?”

Zayn glares. “Not at all. Your General Marcus is one of the rudest men I have ever met and your man Kamos is also awful.”

“Awful in what way?”

“Awful in that they spoke cruel words to me, hit me if I did not do as they instructed.”

Paris’s mouth sets itself in a tight line. “They were under instructions to treat you well. Unfortunately Marcus seems to think he has more power than he does at times. I will have him seen to.” He rings the bell again. “Fetch me Marcus!” he all but screams to the guard opening the door, making both him and Zayn flinch.

“Seen to how?” Zayn asks nervously, but he’s waved off again as Paris stands up and joins him on his sofa, leaning forward to stroke Zayn’s limp fringe.

“You are very beautiful, too beautiful for this world, maybe,” he says. “It is truly an honour to be in your presence even though you do not see it as an honour to be in mine.”

Zayn recoils his head back, trying to shift away from Paris’s hands.

“And I cannot wait for us to be wed,” Paris continues, ignoring Zayn’s obvious discomfort and shifting forward so he can trail his hands down Zayn’s arm. “For we will be the most powerful family in the empire, do you not see? With you by my side then we will be…”

“Family?” Zayn asks with wide eyes. “You think we will be family?”

Paris opens his mouth to reply but then a timid knocking on the door signals the return of the guard with Marcus in tow, two slaves following behind carrying their meals.

“Out, all of you,” Paris barks and Zayn flinches hard. “Marcus, I need words.”

“General Paris, it is good to see you once more,” Marcus starts nervously.

“Shut your mouth,” Paris snaps angrily. “What gave you the right to speak to the son of Zeus like you did?”

“My lord,” Marcus says as he goes pale. “I-I spoke t-to him in the way he deserved b-because he w-was being disrespectful t-towards you…”

“So you disrespected him back?” Paris snarls. “You struck him, even?”

“I-I thought…” Marcus flounders, looking a mix of terrified and furious, “I-I thought it is what y-you would have done…”

“You stupid fool,” Paris hisses, standing up and striking Marcus across the face himself. “How would you feel if I slapped your future husband? Especially if that husband was descended from Olympus itself? Have you lost your wits?”

“I am so sorry,” Marcus all but whimpers as he runs a hand over his cheek.

“Not good enough,” Paris hisses, striking him across the other cheek. He turns to Zayn. “My love, what will you have me do with him?”

Zayn stares at the scene with wide eyes, snapping out of his reverie when it registers what Paris referred to him as. “I will have you not refer to me as your love!”

This makes Paris growl even louder and he grabs the unsuspecting Marcus by the neck and shoves him against the wall, making him yelp and Zayn scrabble as far away as he can.

“You see what you have done?” he barks in Marcus’s face. “You have made the son of Zeus turn against us before our allegiance has even began. You fucking idiot, why did I trust such a _fool_ with this task?”

“Your… my lord,” Marcus gulps, flailing against his hold. “A… a thousand apologies, my lord!”

“You think apologising will make this better? You think I am stupid enough to keep a man with your ego and your failings in my ranks?” Paris spits. Marcus looks like a scared child, quite opposite from how he’d looked the past month. Zayn can’t help but feel sorry for him though, because Paris’s fingers are leaving bruises in his neck and his breaths are becoming more ragged and strained.

“Paris, do not choke him!” he shouts from his seat. “That is not a way to punish his wrongdoing.”

“Mmmm, maybe you are correct, my love,” Paris says like he’s mulling it over. He drops a spluttering Paris and lets him gulp for air for a few seconds before he draws his sword from his belt and plunges it into his belly. Marcus screams and slumps forward, hands trying in vain to staunch the wound in his stomach. Paris draws the sword back out slowly and Marcus chokes as he falls forward, falling to the floor in a crumpled, sobbing heap.

Zayn lets out a cry of horror and leaps to his feet away from the scene, hands covering his mouth as he watches the body convulse on the floor until it slumps silently in a puddle of its own blood. Paris wipes the bloodied sword on the dead man’s tunic and slides it back into its sheath on his belt.

“There we are, Zayn. He shall offend you no more.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Zayn yells, backing away again as Paris takes a step closer. “I said he was disrespectful, I did not say end his life!”

“I will not tolerate his kind,” Paris hisses. “If he feels he can get away with this sort of thing then he needs to be put in his place.”

“Death is not a place!” Zayn cries. “And what? Did you think this _noble_ act would make me feel something for you? If anything, it has done the opposite!”

Paris raises his eyebrows. “Would Liam end a life because they were disrespecting you? Does this not show you my dedication? How keen I am to show you what I will go through to make you happy and keep you loyal?”

“I would never have asked for someone to kill for me,” Zayn screeches. “I do not wish for you to kill for me again.”

“Would Liam not kill for you?” Paris repeats in a tight voice.

“Only if my life was threatened directly!”

Paris chuckles humourlessly. “Liam has gone soft then. I have seen him when he was a real man, when he would kill for fun and fuck whores until they couldn’t walk. If only you had known him back then.”

“Do _not_ speak of Liam like you know him,” Zayn hisses. “He has told me of his days in the academy and he makes it clear that he is not proud of who he was. He has changed and it is infinitely for the better!”

Paris continues just to look at him in amusement. “If you had any idea how little of us ever expected Liam to settle down then you would not say these things. There was a time when Liam once said over ale that he hated the idea of sons of Zeus coming down from Olympus and becoming mortals. Said you were a drain of the population and something that people shouldn’t be forced to worship.”

“Then why did you enter the competition for me?”

Paris laughs again. “I did not believe him, Zayn. We were quite the rivals at the academy so I never really listened to him. But it is a travesty that you feel you are appreciated by someone who holds that view.”

“You shut your mouth,” Zayn retorts, voice quivering slightly. “Liam may have held that opinion once but he has changed and he loves me with his all, I know it.”

“I still do not think I believe that,” Paris scoffs. “Liam always had a weakness for passions of the body and the flesh. He fucked well and he fucked many. Has he told you of his past?”

“I do not care of his past,” Zayn counters.

“Has he never told you of the time I caught him and that Louis of York he’s so fond of pleasuring a whore both at once?” Paris asks, crossing his arms. “Liam fucking her hard while she took Louis in her mouth? Well? Has he?”

“Shut up!” Zayn roars. “I will hear no more of this! Your words are cruel yet will not change my feelings for Liam into feelings for you! I care not about his past and I care not for a future with you!”

“Unbelievable,” Paris sighs with a shake of his head. “I was told that a son of Zeus was often a naïve creature but I had no idea you were _this_ naïve.”

“I am not naïve," Zayn spits. “It is not naïve to believe that people can change for the better like Liam has done. Perhaps there was a time when he didn’t want to marry but there was also a time when I didn’t want to leave Olympus. People change!”

“And yet you seem so reluctant to do so,” Paris sighs again. “Pity. I could offer you so much. Positions, power, gold…”

“If I wanted to keep positions then I was a fool to leave Olympus,” Zayn snorts, fists clenching at his sides. “Tell me the real reason you have taken me, Paris. I understand that you do not like my husband but it seems a very extreme move to travel across a sea simply to pluck me from my bed.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong, Zayn,” Paris says, trying to step closer to him. “You are worth the journey and the expenses. Your face could launch a thousand ships, that is how beautiful you are. It seems a shame that you are trapped in Sparta when you could do so much more with your life here.”

Zayn frowns. “You sent men that far just to take me so you could look at my face?”

“That, and because I know you are rightfully mine,” Paris says like it’s obvious. “Watching you go off with Liam of Wolver of all people was a harsh strike across the face.”

“If you want me to like you, speaking harsh words towards the man I married are not going to help,” Zayn snaps. “Why have you not got it into your thick skull that I wish more than anything not to be here and the idea of marrying you is, quite frankly, repulsive? You are a brute and a coward and Liam of Wolver is a thousand times your superior.”

“You are weary from travel, you do not know what you are saying,” Paris says with a brush of his hand. “Perhaps if you see your chambers you may change your mind.”

“I doubt this but I am tired,” Zayn mutters. “I wish to eat and then sleep undisturbed.”

“Very well,” Paris says in a tight voice. He reaches forward to ring the bell on the table again and the guards open the door. “Have somebody clear up this mess,” he barks, gesturing to Marcus’s corpse. “Come, Zayn, let me personally escort you to your new temporary quarters.”

“Temporary?” Zayn asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Why, yes,” Paris says, placing his hand on the small of Zayn’s back. Zayn flinches but Paris’s fingernails start to dig into his hip so he lets it rest there uncomfortably as they walk out of Paris’s quarters and down the lavishly decorated hallways. “When we are wed then you shall share with me.”

Zayn chokes on his own spit. “You really think we are to wed?”

Paris sighs. “Zayn, I did not just bring you here to admire your beauty, though it is a task I would have undertaken just to see your face again, I swear it. But yes, I hope after you have had the time to grieve for Liam then you will let me have your hand.”

“To grieve? I am still his; whether I have been taken from his house or not makes no difference,” Zayn snaps angrily. “And I will not be forced into breaking our vows, I am his until my dying day, I have sworn that to him and the gods both.”

“What about until his dying day?” Paris says darkly. “Surely that fool Marcus did one thing of use and told you that he is dead.”

“A lie if ever I have heard one,” Zayn hisses. “If Liam were dead, I would know. I would know in my heart and my heart tells me that his beats still.”

“I see,” Paris says. “Denial is common after losing a loved one, I hear. But anyway, these shall be your rooms until you accept the truth. We have the rest of our lives, of course.”

Zayn rolls his eyes as the door to his new quarters is opened in front of him and he steps inside. It’s a very beautiful room, that he cannot deny. It opens into a large living area, with plush sofas and a table for dining. To the one side is a door that leads to a bathing area with a small toilet attached, and on the other are two rooms. The door to one is open and Zayn can see a large bed in the centre of it, looking soft and cosy with silk sheets and fine feather pillows.

There are also two young slaves milling around, two very scared looking young girls who seem to be eager to keep their faces hidden behind their long hair. Paris coughs and they both scurry forward, dropping to their knees in front of where Zayn is standing.

“I have assigned two handmaidens here for you,” Paris says. “They will attend to all your needs.” He reaches over and digs his fingers harshly into the shoulders of one of the girls, making her let out a soft cry. “Girl, greet the son of Zeus who stands before you!”

“My… my lord, _ah_ ” she stammers out, taking a deep breath as Paris releases her. Zayn glares at Paris and knocks him out the way, stepping forward and holding out his hand so he can help both girls to their feet.

“Good afternoon, girls, what names do you go by?” he asks, standing pointedly between them and Paris.

“Sophia, my lord,” the girl says and bows again.

“Eleanor,” the second girl says, copying Sophia’s actions. Zayn shakes his head and encourages them to stand again.

“Sophia, Eleanor, I am grateful for your service. Could you perhaps fetch me a change of robes and a light meal? I would be very grateful.”

Both girls bow their heads and hurry away. Zayn turns back to Paris and takes a step further away from him. “Do you speak to all slaves with such contempt?”

Paris shrugs, confused. “They are but slaves, what does it matter?”

“You are _not_ to speak to mine in that way, or hurt them like you did just ever again, you hear me?”

Paris looks confused. “I do not understand. They are your slaves, they need to learn…”

“Not to me they are not,” Zayn retorts. “Now please leave me, I am weary and wish to do nothing more than bathe and eat.”

“Very well. I shall call for you again in a few days so you have had the time to settle,” Paris says. He steps forward and takes Zayn’s hand, drawing it up to his lips for a kiss like he did the first time he and Zayn met. Zayn snatches his hand away quickly and shakes his head, smirking at the way Paris looks thunderous for a second before he bows and exits. “Until later, my soon to be love.”

Zayn scowls until the door shuts and then he lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his greasy hair. He takes several deep breaths until he hears a nervous cough for the entrance to his bathing chambers.

“Master _apógonos tou Olýmpou,_ y-your bath is heated,” Sophia says nervously. “E-Eleanor has gone t-to fetch you some breads and cheeses for your meal. C-can I get you a-anything more?”

Zayn shakes his head. “No, thank you, Sophia. Just some time to bathe, I think. Have you eaten?”

Sophia’s eyes go wide in shock. “Um… yes, yes I have.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows. “Have you truthfully? If you and Eleanor are hungry, please help yourself to whatever is brought back. No doubt it will be too much for just me.”

“Master, w-we could not possibly…”

“Sophia,” Zayn interrupts. “I cannot _stand_ it when masters treat their slaves poorly. I want you treated well if you are to be my personal handmaiden and therefore I want you to eat well. After I bathe, I will also dismiss you both for the evening. I will be doing no more than sleeping, after all.”

“Master _apógonos tou Olýmpou…”_

 _“_ Please call me Master Zayn, if anything,” Zayn says with a small smile. “That was the name I gave to Marcus and his men to call me and Marcus and his men were a bunch of stupid fools.”

Sophia lets out a little giggle. “Thank you, Master Zayn. Anyway, do you still wish to bathe?”

“Yes, very much,” Zayn says, following her into the bathing rooms. She runs a paddle through the bath to keep the water and the oils moving and he quickly pulls his robes off and slides into the warm pool, exhaling loudly as the warm water gets to work on his tired bones. “By the gods, this is wonderful.”

“Are the oils to your taste?” Sophia asks as she goes over and pokes at the coals.

Zayn nods. “They are, thank you. They smell and feel good on my skin.” He sighs again and dunks his head under the water, running his fingers through it deftly to scrub out a month’s worth of grease and grime. “You have no idea how much I have needed this, thank you so much for preparing this for me, Sophia.”

“I, er, no problem, Master Zayn,” Sophia smiles. “Would you have me leave or?”

“Go and eat,” Zayn smiles with a shake of his head. “I will be here a while, I think.”

 Zayn has always loved long baths but on this day that Paris has summoned him he stays a little longer than usual. He’s now been in Paris’s house for just over a month and he is fed up with Paris’s summonings and constant pressings for his attention but today… today might just be the very worst.

“Your grace,” he hears Sophia say quietly from the doorway. He squeezes his eyes closed and tries to drown it out but he knows he cannot. “Your grace, please, I… I must insist.”

He sighs and opens his eyes, twisting his head to look at her before he nods. “Yes, okay, Sophia. Please hand me some drying fabrics?”

Sophia leaves them on the side and exits swiftly, knowing Zayn doesn’t like to be watched. He stands himself up and hauls himself out of the pool, wrapping the soft linen around his waist before he goes into his rooms where his robes are waiting for him.

“Your grace,” Eleanor bows as she sets his food on the table in front of him. “I brought you breakfast. Fresh fruits for your choosing.”

“Thank you,” Zayn mumbles. He lets Sophia slip the robes onto his body and straightens them out before he grabs a handful of grapes. “You are both the very best slaves I could have asked for upon my arrive to Troy. Whatever happens to me today will not change your treatment, I can assure you.”

“My lord,” Eleanor says, bowing before him and kissing his hand. “We are so grateful, I…”

They’re interrupted by a pounding on the locked door and a guard shouting that Paris is becoming impatient. Zayn swallows thickly and nods his slaves away before he strides over to the door and opens it.

“I am ready,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Does Paris wish me to go to his chambers?”

“Aye, yes,” the guard says, following closely behind as Zayn begins the now-familiar walk to Paris’s quarters.

It is a walk he has taken reluctantly and often since his capture. The last time he made it was just two days ago and he feels sick to his stomach when he remembers his and Paris’s conversation.

“I finally have proof of the death of your Liam,” Paris had sneered proudly in his face. “A messenger brings it to Troy as we speak.”

“I shall believe that only when I see it,” Zayn had retorted before he’d hurried back to his own chambers, locking the door and collapsing onto his bed, using all the control he had not to cry. He still holds on to the belief that he was lied to because Paris is unconvincing and cruel, therefore he is almost certain that the proof will be something poorly fabricated.

So now he walks towards the chambers that may hold the fate of his husband and therefore his future in its midst, because it may not be true but for all he knows as of now it could be. Fear sits heavy in his belly like a stone and he has to ignore all the urges in his body screaming at him to turn around and run back to his rooms (not that he could with the guards trailing behind him) for it is almost easier for Liam to be dead and for him not to know of it, he thinks. But instead, he takes a deep breath and raps his knuckles against the door.

“Zayn, my love?” the voice from inside calls and Zayn resists the urge to growl and roll his eyes as he pushes open the door.

“Good morning, Paris,” he says, willing his voice not to shake. “You sent for me?”

“Ah, yes, good morning,” Paris says from where he’s sprawled out on one of his sofas, a cup of wine in one hand and an apple in the other. “You look as beautiful as always, my love.”

“I am still not your love,” Zayn snaps. “Why do you insist on calling me that when I have made my dislike of it clear as day?”

“Because soon you will become my love,” Paris says like it’s obvious. “I know I have to tell you that I have twice lied to you, which may displease you more, but I have news.”

“You have twice lied to me?” Zayn repeats, his mouth dropping open. “What about? Liam lives, am I right? You act as though our pairing was not partly decided by the gods. I would _know_ if Liam was dead. Your words are to hurt me, I am no fool.”

Paris shakes his head. “I did have Marcus lie to you on the journey here, whether he had killed him during your abduction or not. I thought if you believed Liam to be dead then you would have no wish to return to Sparta. Alas, that did not work because Marcus was a fool and an imbecile.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Lucky I did not believe it then.”

“The second time I lied, and you must forgive me for this one, oh beautiful one, is when I told you he was dead upon your arrival here. I was lead to believe that the hit my man Kamos laid on him was enough to end his life but alas it was not. He lived on.”

Zayn’s breath hitches in quiet relief.

“However,” Paris continues, sitting himself up and setting his goblet of wine on the table in front of him, “I have proof of his death now.”

Zayn scoffs. “I do not believe you. Kamos claimed he had proof by speaking of a blemish on Liam’s skin, yet that was either just a lucky guess or something he happened to see if he did lay a finger on him. Whichever is the truth, I am not impressed and I am not going to believe what you have to say.”

Paris doesn’t say anything then, just stands up and goes over to the table where he picks up something that he carries back over to where Zayn is nervously standing.

“What if I showed you this?” he says, holding up a gold bracelet and dangling it in front of Zayn’s eyes. Zayn goes cold. “Do you recognise this band, Zayn? Tell me this is not the bracelet Liam wore every day.”

“Let me see it,” Zayn says, no longer even bothering to stop the tremble in his voice. He snatches it from Paris’s grasp, turning it over in his shaky fingers.

It is a band he knows well, a band he has traced over the markings of and seen glint in the Spartan sunlight many times. It was Liam’s father’s and Zayn knows how dear his husband holds it – he would never take it off, not even to bathe or sleep.

“Where did you get this?” he stutters out. “Where did you get this, I say?”

“I clearly underestimated your husband, Zayn,” Paris says. “He survived the hits laid on him by my best men and then he clearly cared for you, so much so that he was willing to leave his house injured to get to your side. He left with a few men right after your capture and came close to us but my men managed to cut him down this time.”

“No,” Zayn says dumbly, staring at the bracelet in his hand. “N-no, this is… this is… Liam is not…”

“You can no longer deny now you hold the proof in your hands, Zayn,” Paris says coldly. “Liam was strong and dedicated, yes, but really he was unsuited to doing the task of being your protector and your suitor.”

“No,” Zayn says again, clutching the bracelet in his hands. “N-no, I cannot…”

“This is the proof we spoke of,” Paris says. “You must now accept that your allegiance to Liam and to Sparta has been cut and therefore, my love, you are now mine to marry. I accept the responsibility once held by Liam of Wolver and take it on graciously.”

 “You killed my husband and you think you can just profess your love and I will be fine with this?” Zayn all but screams. He doesn’t even try to quell the tears pouring down his cheeks and he walks roughly towards the door, his legs shaking beneath him. “I will _never_ love you, I will _never_ marry you, do you understand?”

“Zayn, do not…”

“Get away from me!” Zayn screeches. “Come near me and I will kill you, do you understand?”

“And how will you do that?” Paris asks with raised brows. “My love, don’t you see this is a good thing?”

“I am not your love and I will never be,” Zayn spits, leaning against the door to keep himself standing. “I will only love one for the rest of my days and it is not _you!”_

“He was not good enough for a son of Zeus if he went down as easy as he did, do you not see I did you a favour?” Paris says, trying to step forward to him but Zayn flings his arm out, hitting him in the chest and making him step back. “My love…”

“Shut up!” Zayn roars. “I am not _just_ a son of Zeus, I am a fucking human being! I love with truth and honesty, which is something you clearly no nothing of for you so readily kill! If you really saw me as your love then you would let me be happy, yet how you can see me as your love is beyond me when you speak to me cruelly and as if my beauty is all I am good for. Now let me leave here this instant!”

“You are not thinking straight, I understand…” Paris tries, stepping forward again but Zayn slaps him, hard, before he yanks the door open and stumbles back to his own room, sobbing and whining as he does so.

He falls into the door, pushes it open and stumbles inside. He slams it shut and secures the lock just in time for him to fall to his knees, covering his face with his hands as he sobs and sobs, dropping the bracelet to the floor with a clatter.

Eleanor rushes to his side almost immediately but he shakes his head wildly. “P-please leave m-me,” he stammers, not looking up. Eleanor nods and backs away slowly, taking Sophia’s wrist and leading her towards their sleep room on the other side of Zayn’s quarters. Zayn continues to sob, fisting his hands in his hair and wailing loudly as he thinks of his Liam being killed, his Liam running to save him and being slaughtered because he was foolish and let his heart run away with him.

He isn’t sure how long he stays on the floor sobbing but eventually he becomes numb – his hands are numb from gripping his hair so tight he nearly rips it out, his knees are numb on the hard, solid floor and his heart is numb from losing his other half.

He lets Sophia and Eleanor gingerly help him to his feet and lead him to the bedroom, where they pull back the sheets and help him slide into them.

“Master, can we get you anything?” Sophia asks carefully once his head is buried in the pillow and the sheets have cocooned him in once more.

Zayn starts to shake his head but then says, “the bracelet? From the floor? Please, I need it.” He feels the bed dip and then a few seconds later Eleanor passes it to him. He thanks her in a raspy voice and clutches it close to him as the tears start up again.

He does not leave his bed for three days. Paris sends messengers asking to explain but he tells them to fuck off each time. He refuses all meals and just sleeps as much as he can because if he is awake then he just cannot stop crying and he _hates_ it.

On the fourth day, thunder rumbles through the sky and lightning strikes one of Paris’s guards dead.

“I must speak with my father,” Zayn croaks to Eleanor as she carries his breakfast tray into his room shyly. “Can you send a messenger?”

“To whom, my lord?”

“Paris,” Zayn says darkly. “I need to know where the nearest temple of Zeus is.”

“It is in the city centre, my lord.”

“Can you arrange a messenger?”

Eleanor nods and hurries out, leaving Zayn to eat breakfast alone. It’s sweetened porridge, one of his favourites, and his stomach suddenly growls as the scents of honey and sugar fill his nostrils. He hauls the tray into his lap and eats it, reluctantly accepting that it is actually making him feel a little better.

He dresses with the assistance of Sophia and awaits the return of the messenger. A messenger doesn’t come, however. Paris himself does.

“What is this I hear of you demanding to leave the palace?” he asks loudly over a clap of thunder. “Do we not satisfy your needs and wants here?”

“I need to speak with my father,” Zayn says in a tight voice, gesturing to the sky. “I therefore need to go to his temple. I wish to be taken there.”

“Are you sure you can leave my house in your grieving state?” Paris asks in mock concern. “If you cannot spend time with me in this house then surely you are not fit enough…”

Are you sure it is wise to ignore a clear sign from Zeus?” Zayn interrupts in a voice that leaves no room for argument. “I wish for you to arrange for me to be taken to the temple of Zeus as soon as can be done. No questions.”

Paris looks positively murderous as Zayn talks back to him but it is clear that he will not win this. He snaps his fingers to signal the guards and he barks out the orders to have six guards take Zayn into the city centre.

“If you think you can escape from me by leaving my palace walls then you are mistaken, you know,” he adds on. Zayn sighs exasperatedly and pushes past him to follow the guards.

The walk into town is short but filled with lots of pointing from the townsfolk, staring at him as if he is an animal in a cage. He feels uneasy and weary but keeps his head up high and stares straight forward as he is marched forward towards the temple.

He instructs the guards to wait outside and he enters the lavishly decorated building slowly and carefully, shutting the heavy door behind him. He walks towards the statue of his father and wraps a hand around his necklace and draws it to his lips before dropping to his knees. It takes a few seconds but then the statue comes to life, adopting the face and the voice of his father like he’s been witness to many times before.

“My son, my Zayn,” Zeus says, gesturing him to come forward. Zayn steps forward and kisses his father’s stony hand, bowing his head as his father nods for him to step back. “I am so very sorry I could do nothing to stop your capture.”

“Father, I understand and it is not important. I just need you to answer me this: is Liam alive or dead? That is all I care to hear.”

“Liam lives, Zayn,” Zeus says and Zayn feels tears prick at his eyes as the weight of losing the love of his life is lifted from him. “Paris is a foul man. He had a solider take the bracelet from Liam’s wrist when he was knocked out.”

“C-can you tell me more of him?” Zayn pleads. “Is he safe? Is he hurt?”

“He plans to come and get you, that I can promise,” Zeus says. “I cannot say much more but he comes for you. He and Louis of York have teamed up with Niall of Mullingar and they have just shy of ten thousand men setting off in the near future.”

“Ten thousand?” Zayn squeaks, wiping his eyes on his robe. “I am worth ten thousand men?”

“Paris has disrespected Troy and Sparta both in his actions. I would have the whole city punished if my son wasn’t here,” Zeus scoffs. “Liam is coming for you, son. I can make the weather favourable but that is all the help I can offer – you know I cannot interfere with this world too much.”

Zayn nods. “Thank you, father, thank you. I was going to go mad, I…”

“What you must do, Zayn, is refuse a wedding. He will try to press for one, of that I am sure but you are not his. He is cruel and wants favour but he will not bring himself favour unless you are happy. He is a man whose mind has been warped by greed and lust.”

“Why was I taken, father? Why is he so eager to make me his?”

Zeus sighs. “Liam and Paris knew each other at the academy, I assume you know this. Paris was always wealthier but Liam was more well liked and a better fighter, which has made him bitter with jealousy. Losing you, even though you were never his in the first place, I assume was the final straw.”

“It seems extreme for jealousy,” Zayn says sadly. “But Paris is unpredictable and has a fierce temper. He speaks of me using words like love and yet he makes no effort to woo me or have me love him back, aside from not throwing me in the dungeons.”

“He knows little of love, that is clear. Stand firm, my son, you are strong and Liam will be with you as soon as he can be.”

“I miss him, father, I miss him so much,” Zayn whispers. “I cannot stand this. I wish him to come sooner.”

Zeus sighs. “I will do my best, Zayn, I promise. I must go now, I have been on earth too long. Be strong and I will do my best with Liam.”

“Goodbye, father!” Zayn says as he watches the statue in front of him contorts itself back into its previous position. He stands up and dusts himself down, taking a few minutes to just cry some tears of relief because Liam is _alive_ and Liam is _coming to save him._

He takes several deep breaths and heads towards the door, opening it where the guards stand to attention immediately. He clears his throat.

“I am ready to return. Take me to Paris’s rooms, there is something I need to speak with him about.”

The guards nod eagerly and lead him back, thankfully under dryer skies this time. Zayn’s initial feelings of relief have slowly morphed into anger and pure, utter rage at the fact that Paris could be so cruel, so deceitful, so _desperate_ to make Zayn marry him that he’d told him words that he would rather die than hear, not once but three times. He feels a fool in himself because he should have known, but the bracelet was something too close to home too far from home and he curses himself for letting Paris’s deceit get to him.

By the time he approaches Paris’s apartment, his hands are clenched in fists and his robes feel hot and heavy against his skin. He lets himself in without knocking, all but shouting at the guards to stay outside and wait for him. He walks inside and closes the door behind him, taking a deep breath and pretending to wipe at his eyes.

“Paris,” he says, putting on what he hopes is a convincing voice of someone who has just been crying. “I-I s-spoke with m-my father and he c-confirmed the truth in y-your words. My Liam i-is dead.”

Paris’s mouth all but drops to the floor before he catches himself, hurrying forward and pulling Zayn into his arms before Zayn can protest. Zayn takes this opportunity to fake cry into his shoulder for a few seconds before he murmurs a quick “P-Paris?”

Paris pulls back a few centimetres, cupping Zayn’s face in his wide hands. Zayn takes the opportunity to lift his leg and press it hard into Paris’s crotch, making the other man drop out of his hold and squirm backwards, clutching awkwardly at his cock as Zayn kicks him again so he falls to the floor.

“Never, _ever,_ tell me lies about Liam again,” he spits. “How dare you take his bracelet and how dare you tell your city that Liam no longer lives when he does? You think I would not find your lies out?! You sicken me, do not come near me again.”

Even through his pain, Paris manages to wheeze out a laugh. “I have enough proof of it enough for the king, Zayn. I will get us married, whether Liam lives or not and then my claim to you will be true even if Liam eventually makes it here.”

Zayn spits in his face but Paris just laughs harder. “A son of Zeus indeed! If it were not for your face then I would doubt this! A son of Zeus would not spit at his fiancé!”

“Call me your fiancé once more and I will do much more than spit in your face,” Zayn shouts. “If you summon me anymore then I will refuse to come. If you arrange my marriage to you, I shall refuse it. We will not be marrying and you will _not touch me again,_ do you understand?” He turns on his heel and hurries out the room before he can hear Paris call after him, running down the corridors and back to his own rooms. “No visitors,” he barks to his guards. “No messengers, no summonings, nothing until I say so, you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” they both say nervously. Zayn slams the door behind him and once again hurries to fall into his bed, angry and exhausted and breathing heavily.

“M-master?” Sophia says, approaching him nervously. Zayn takes a heavy breath and looks up, scrubbing a harsh hand across his face. “Master Zayn, is everything okay?”

“Not really,” he mumbles. “It is no matter, I have dealt with it as best I can. Have you eaten?”

Sophia still looks confused but she shakes her head slowly.

“Order a meal up from the kitchens for yourself, please. Say it’s for me and demand a double portion, that should be enough for us three, yes?”

“Master Zayn, I…”

“Please, Sophia, I am weary,” Zayn croaks. “Let me rest for a while and I will eat later, I promise. But please, have whatever you are hungry for.”

She nods and bows, swiftly exiting the room. Zayn flops back onto the pillows and breathes heavily again, drawing the sheets up to his shoulders.

He falls asleep scared out of his wits but grateful that at least now he has the knowledge that Liam is alive and his rescue will happen as soon as Liam can make it. He just hopes it’s soon enough.

*

“Ready?”

Liam surveys the scene. Two thousand men stand to his left and to his right, carriages of foods, tents and medicines. Niall stands to his direct left, holding a hand over his eyes so he can look further out into the early rising sun. To his direct right stands Louis, who looks at him eagerly and awaits his answer.

“Yes, I believe we are as ready as we shall ever be.”

Louis nods. “Then let us proceed.”

“For Zeus and for Sparta!” Liam yells to his men, throwing his right hand into the air.

“For Zeus and for Sparta!” two thousand voices shout back to him and he can’t stop the proud smile from spreading across his lips.

“Let us show those Trojan pigs that they should not mess with us!” Niall yells and there’s raucous cheer from among the ranks. A horn sounds and then the groups begin to move forward with Liam, Niall and Louis (and Harry) leading the way.

It begins here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LIAM IS FINALLY OFF TO GET HIS BOY BACK IS ANYONE MORE EXCITED THAN ME


	5. The Progression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Louis does what he thinks he needs to, Harry wishes to leave, Liam wishes the mission to move faster and Niall wonders why him settling down is so unusual to all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooo! This is a very predominately Louis&Harry chapter but the Ziam will return very soon, I promise! Hope you enjoy! xx
> 
> (Warnings for a little bit of gore and a little bit of dub-con for like two seconds!!!!!!)

The day is still warm and muggy even as the sun sets and Liam yawns, running a hand through his recently shorn hair, scraping away the shorter bits that insist on remaining stuck to his forehead by sweat. He’s tired, not only from lack of sleep but also tired and emotional, tired of walking for miles and then going to bed alone at the end of it.

All his men were beginning to falter after seventeen days of walking with only a day’s rest in the middle, it was clear. Although late October it rarely gets very cold, even during the winters, and on top of the bright sun and the many miles they managed to plough through a day, it was becoming a little too much after months of being at peace.

Reluctantly, Liam had suggested that they take a few days of rest so their tents had been set up and a large meal of wild pig was prepared. The troops are eating happily amongst loud chatter and laughter but Liam does not care to join them. Instead, he eats alone in his own tent with the maps and plans laid out in front of him, making sure that everything is going as according to plan as best it can be when he’s in charge of this many men.

“Brother,” he hears Louis’s voice says softly as he ducks inside the tent. “Brother, this is meant to be a day of rest. Do not tire yourself out even more by stressing over battle plans.”

“How can I do so when we don’t have any battle plans?” Liam snaps, harsher than intended. Louis holds up his hands and takes a step back. He sighs. “Forgive me, brother. I am tired, you are not wrong. I just wish for this operation to be moving swifter.”

“It is moving as swift as we can have it move,” Louis says calmly. “It is not simple trying to get this many men across the land and then across an ocean. The hardest part has not even begun yet and the men already need a time to rest.”

“How far are we from the bay?”

“Hmmm, perhaps three day’s trek?” Louis muses. “If we rest another full day we should be able to do it in that amount of time.”

“Very well.” Liam lets out a long breath. “I know with each day we get closer, but that does not stop it getting harder, Louis. I miss him so much my heart aches with it.”

“I know, brother,” Louis says gently, clasping him on the shoulder. “But do just think that each day you get closer. And think, it could be much worse. There could have been rain or perhaps muddy terrain. We must thank Zeus that it has been so favourable so far.”

Liam sighs and nods. “I suppose we must. Are all the tents set? Every man has himself a bed?”

“Aye,” Louis nods. “Do you want more food? It is plentiful now we have stopped and have had the time to hunt.”

Liam shakes his head, turning back to the maps in front of him. Louis shakes his head in turn, ducking outside the tent. “Harry, love? Could you perhaps fetch us some more supper? For Liam and I both.”

Liam can’t help but snort. “I never thought I would see the day that I would hear Louis of York refer to someone as his love. You have surprised me, brother, but in the happiest of ways.”

Louis grins widely. “Your acceptance and approval means a lot to us both, brother. I am so grateful, I hope you know this.” Liam extends his hand out and Louis clasps it firmly, his smile merry and broad until he gasps and turns Liam’s wrist over in shock. “By the gods, Liam, you took your bracelet off?”

“Tartarus’s fire!” Liam swears, tugging his hand back and staring blinkingly at his empty wrist. “No, I… I must have dropped it on the trek somewhere. _Oipho,_ I… I cannot believe I was so careless.”

“I am so sorry, Liam,” Louis says with a shake of his head. “I know…” He leans forwards and rests his hand on Liam’s bicep. “I know how important that bracelet was to you.”

Liam tries to shrug it off. “It is no matter, really. I would rather lose the bracelet on a trek that gets me my husband returned to me at the end of it.”

“It still doesn’t make it easy to take, Liam, you are allowed to feel sorrow for more than just Zayn,” Louis says softly. “I understand…”

“It is no matter,” Liam says loudly, in a voice that he hopes Louis gets means to drop the subject. “Where is Harry with our meals? I am hungrier than I thought I was.”

Louis closes his mouth abruptly. “Liam, please then put aside your battle plans and eat a solid meal. You need to sleep, not fret. Take this evening to eat well, drink some wine, perhaps. Talk with us about things other than our mission.”

Harry ducks his head inside the tent then, a large bowl of steaming pulled pork cupped in between his still-bandaged hands. “I-I had to bring both your meals in one, my lor- I mean, Liam.” He hands it over to Liam’s outstretched hands and curls nervously into Louis’s side. “Forgive me, I am still unused to this.”

“Harry, you do not need to apologise for calling me what you have known me as for almost your entire life,” Liam says, smiling kindly. “Thank you for the food. Have you eaten?”

Harry shakes his head. “I was about to return to fetch my own, and some bread if I can carry it. Would you like bread?”

Louis sighs fondly and ruffles Harry’s curls. “I shall fetch it for us all, my love. Sit yourself down and perhaps distract Liam from his maps, it will do him some good.”

With that, Louis presses a quick kiss into Harry’s cheek and ducks out the tent, leaving Liam in the presence of a very nervous looking Harry. They have been alone together countless times over the years when Harry was under Liam’s ownership but now Harry always seems wary and on edge when alone with Liam, itching for Louis to come back who he then clings to.

Harry nervously sits down onto one of the floor, resting his back against one of the mounds of straw that Liam was using to build his makeshift bed. He winces as he does so, his hands still weak and unable to do much more than stay bandaged and only be used for menial tasks.

(Liam had felt a pang in his heart three days before they left, when he walked down to Harry and Louis’s shared quarters to find him leaning over Harry, gently bathing his wounds in warm water as Perrie instructs him how to do so. He just watched, enthralled at his best friend’s dedication and overwhelming care as he gently patted the gashes dry before dabbing them with Leigh-Anne’s remedy and then finally wrapping them in fresh bandages. Afterwards, he pressed a lingering kiss into Harry’s forehead and murmured “see? You are no burden, my darling” and Liam’s heart had twisted inside his chest.)

Now Harry sits awkwardly on the floor, eyes actively searching to rest themselves any place but Liam. Liam sighs and instead of sitting at his stool like he normally would, he strides over and sits next to Harry on the ground.

“Harry,” he says gently, smiling at the surprise written across the younger lad’s face. “We have been alone just us two countless times. Things do not need to be awkward between us. We can be friends, I know it.”

Harry coughs nervously. “Forgive me, my lor- Liam.” He laughs hollowly. “It may take me some time to get used to calling you by your name, not your title.”

Liam shrugs. “It is understandable. I have known you since we were both babes. By the gods, Harry, we used to play together when we were young. I hope you do know that I care for you as a friend, always have. I care for you more now that I have had time to speak with you again. I know you are good to Louis and for that reason I feel I can hold you even dearer.”

Harry stares at the floor. “Th-thank you,” he says after a time. “I think I needed to hear those words from you. I… I cannot help but feel a little out of place but it is nice to know I have your reassurance that I do in fact belong.”

“Of course, Harry,” Liam says softly. “I am sorry I have not spoken these words to you earlier. Sometimes I forget that it is not just I who is hurting at the moment and I, er, well I know I take it out on Louis  but I had not realised I was taking it out on you.”

“You were not,” Harry insists. “Sometimes I do feel like it is not easy to be here but I value your friendship dearly. It is still a little odd, I must admit, but Louis assures me I will feel better with time.”

“And are you happy?” Liam asks, reaching out and wrapping a hand loosely around his wrist. “Is Louis treating you well?”

Harry’s face softens. “He treats me wonderfully. It is… it is odd for me to get used to, I cannot lie, but…”

“Louis has never felt like this about anybody before,” Liam says with a smile. “He cares for you so deeply and I am glad you have found each other. Are you worried about it though?”

Harry’s cheeks flame. “Not worried, but…”

Their conversation is cut off as Louis returns into the tent, another bowl of steaming meat in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other. “Here you are, love,” he says as he hands the bowl over and tears off a chunk of bread for Harry, resting it on the side. “Liam, did you not begin?”

“We were just speaking,” Liam says with a shake of his head. “Bring the bowl over?”

Louis nods, collecting the bowl of their pork from Liam’s makeshift table and settling on the floor across from Liam, placing their meal between them. “What were you speaking about?”

“About whether you were treating Harry right,” Liam says. Louis coughs from where he’s shovelling in a mouthful of meat and Harry shakes his head hurriedly, his cheeks burning red. Liam cackles as Harry leans forward and gingerly rubs a hand up Louis’s back to soothe him and they both shoot him matching glares. “I joke! I was saying that I consider Harry a close friend and I do hope he knows this, that is all. I trust your judgment of how you are treating your lover, brother.”

“I like to think I treat him well,” Louis says, rubbing a hand up Harry’s bare leg. “I would like to be in Sparta treating him well there rather than forced to take him across all the land but it must be done. It will make our time at home more special when we return, do you not think?”

Harry nods happily but Liam hangs his head. “I am sorry. I should not have made you come. Especially not you, Harry, it is very unfair to you.”

“Nonsense,” Harry says, taking both Louis and Liam by surprise. “I chose to come, did I not? And I do not regret my choice, at least I have not yet. I have never seen the world outside of Sparta, remember?”

“That does not mean this way was the best way to do it,” Liam argues.

“I care not,” Harry shrugs. “I did not wish to be apart from Louis for such a time either. It was not a hard decision in the end, my lor- _Liam_. I am happy to be here.”

Liam smiles and wraps his hand around Harry’s wrist again, squeezing gently and smiling gratefully. Louis’s got his brows raised in pride and he smirks over to Liam, who grins back.

They eat the rest of their meal in a comfortable silence, making light chat here and there. After a time, Liam stands up and takes their empty bowls outside to the slaves to take to the river to wash and when he steps back inside his tent Louis is curled up at Harry’s side, a hand cupping his cheek lightly and their greasy lips moving against each other’s softly. He almost feels regretful as he slides back into his previous position but they break apart with shy smiles and Liam can’t help but snort and shake his head fondly.

The three of them end up sharing a pitcher of wine and chatting animatedly for the rest of the night. It takes a couple of goblets full of wine to get Harry to start coming further out of his shell, adding jokes and jibes to the conversation like it is second nature to him. Liam feels a strange sense of pride towards him as he makes a joke about how loudly Louis can snore while he sleeps and Louis looks incredibly indignant, though the love shining through his bright eyes is enough to show Liam that he too understands how much of a big deal this is for him.

By the time night has fallen and Harry’s eyes are falling closed from where his head rests on Louis’s shoulder, Liam feels a lot better than he had earlier that evening. Louis, it seems, does know him better than he’s ever willing to admit and does know how best to distract him and he is incredibly grateful for his friend, cared for in a way that he only hopes he reciprocates.

“Brother, take your love to bed,” he says to Louis, who nods and runs a hand through Harry’s unruly mane to wake him up. “And sleep as long as you want in the morning. If we are to give our soldiers a break then I feel that perhaps I should give one to you and Niall as well.”

Louis grips his hand in thanks as they both stand up before he gently hauls Harry to his feet. “A good night’s sleep for you too, brother. Let your mind rest and worry not. We are making good time and only a few day’s walk from the port.”

Liam nods. “I know. I am grateful for your continued support and reassurance, I hope you know how much.”

Louis nods again and takes one of Harry’s hands in both of his. “Goodnight, brother. Until tomorrow morn. Sleep well.”

“And you both. Goodnight, Harry,” he smiles, chuckling as Harry hiccups and stumbles slightly with his tired and slightly alcohol-muddled legs.

After they’ve both left the planning tent, Liam takes a while to arrange the maps and plans, making sure they are in a meticulous order. He spends as long as he can in there before he lets himself admit that he’s been in there too long, so he walks out and bids goodnight to the guards outside it. He shuffles through the sea of tents to the trees around the outside where he stands to empty his bladder, greeting and chatting idly with a few of his men. He takes his time to chat, even though he knows that everyone is weary and there is great excitement among the ranks to not worry about having to wake up at the break of dawn.

He eventually strides back through to his own tent – the second biggest of all the tents – and climbs inside. He undresses himself slowly and then pulls on his warmer, thicker sleep robes before he slides into his makeshift bed, where he is finally and regretfully alone with his thoughts.

However, the call of sleep with no early wake-up call is appealing to his body and for once, his body takes over and lets him slide into a tired and uneasy sleep, but a long sleep nonetheless, where he can ignore the jealousy that sits in his mind towards the happiness and love in his best friend’s eyes and the fact that tomorrow he will be waking up alone again.

*

Harry wakes up the next morning with a dry mouth, a mild headache and Louis’s knee digging into his backbone.

Groaning, he rolls over to gently press Louis’s leg down, which makes Louis moan gently as he wakes. He finds himself being tugged closer and Louis buries his face in Harry’s bare chest before he goes back to sleep, snoring softly and making Harry grin.

This is the Louis he wants to hold on to forever – the soft, morning Louis that cuddles him awake and warm, stroking the messy curls from his sweaty forehead and tenderly holding his hands until it’s time for them to wake and change the bandages.

Harry keeps smiling and allows himself a while to just hold Louis close, stroking his soft hair and wishing he could run his fingers through it properly. He’s almost there, he thinks – his hands are nowhere near as bad as they were but Louis still insists that he wear the bandages and the ointment until all the scabs and sores have gone to try and prevent infection or illness, which he supposes he should be grateful for. He sighs and presses a kiss into Louis’s forehead before he wriggles out of his grasp, eager for a drink of water and a stretch of his limbs.

He pulls on a tunic and then Louis’s cloak because it’s still early morning and it’s chilly. He pushes the tent flap aside and steps outside, stretching his back and clicking it before he heads over to the trees to empty his bladder. He then heads over to the storage tents and retrieves a bucket, planning to walk to the well across the field to get water to drink and to wash his hands with.

He fills the well with only some difficulty (Louis would have chastised him and sent a slave with him, at least) but he successfully fills a bucket full, sliding it onto the crook of his elbow so he can carry it back to camp without hurting his hands. He takes a quick drink from it and wipes his wet mouth on his bandages, noticing that even though they don’t really bleed anymore, they get dirty easily so he’s going to have to get them changed. It’s starting to warm up now and only a few of the camp have started to stir so he hums happily to himself as he wanders back, planning on sliding back into bed with Louis for some time, ignoring his hands and the outside world.

He heads back through the clusters of tents, carefully stepping over tent ropes and abandoned pieces of armour so as not to spill his water. More men are coming out of their tents now, stretching and starting campfires to heat water or perhaps cook something on for their morning meal.

He’s just coming up to near to the main path that would lead him back to his and Louis’s tent when someone stands in front of him, blocking his path. Harry freezes, swallowing audibly because this brute in front of him has a good few inches on him and is perhaps twice as wide. His biceps are bulging, his eyes set close together and there’s a scar across his left cheek, making him look even more menacing.

“Well, well,” he says, hands on his hips. Harry takes a nervous step back, eyes wide, but he’s blocked from moving to another path by more soldiers emerging from their tents. “Did General Louis’s slave boy become a slave again? Fetching his own water for once?”

“Let me pass,” Harry says in a voice that he hopes sounds strong. “I am not Louis’s slave boy and I do not simply make other slaves do my bidding, let me pass.”

The brute chuckles. “You’re a pretty little thing, are you not? I can see why the general has kept you for now.”

“He has not simply kept me, Louis loves me,” Harry says defiantly. “He has made it known that he cares for me and I care for him back. Let me pass before I tell him of this.”

The man scoffs. “Louis will not care. He entertains conquests like you for only a time, he doesn’t love.” He gestures to the men around him. “He has known a lot of these men you see here. We are all surprised he even bothered to bring you along, what with how many people he could have easily here. I would let him take me again if he asked.”

“Be quiet,” Harry spits, suddenly very aware of how many eyes are on him and how many people are laughing at him. “I… I do not care to hear from you how many people Louis has been with before, stop tormenting me and let me pass!”

Everyone around him is cackling loudly now, actively pointing and laughing straight in his face. “He has not told you how many of us he has lain with?” The bully turns Harry around, slinging an arm over his shoulder and Harry almost gags at the stench of his body odour. “There is me, of course, and then Jexus here; Petos behind him, a good friend of mine who could hardly sit for a week afterwards…”

“Shut your mouth,” Harry croaks weakly, trying to tug himself out of this man’s grasp. “Louis would never lay with _you,_ he has said before he likes his men pretty.”

Clearly this was the wrong thing to say because the man’s face tightens in anger, no longer teasing and cruel but simply murderous. He’s strong and could quite possibly snap Harry’s neck in one swift movement so Harry almost braces himself for the strike, the bruising, the snapping of bones to come. Instead, the arm that was around his shoulders comes off him and slides down his back with force, sliding under his cloak. Harry takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut as fingers press into the top of his crack. He wants to flinch away desperately but he’s too scared to move, especially because he’s sure there are even more eyes on him than before and if he does he will almost certainly be shoved back by one of the other thugs.

“I would be very careful, if I were you,” the monster murmurs into his ear, hot breath making Harry’s skin crawl. “Just because you mean something to Louis for now does not mean you will for much longer. Once your hole is no longer as tight as he likes it then you will be down here in the ranks with us, in the dirt and the dust and the filth, boy. And let me tell you, I care not whether your hole is tight or not.”

Harry’s breath hitches as the hand slides down further, stopping just above his hole. He panics and blurts out something incredibly stupid. “Stop, s-stop please! H-he cares for me more than that, you m-must stop. He has not even lain with me yet, w-we are waiting until my hands a-are healed.”

The hand leaves his arse but only because the man is now sniggering into it, before he shouts Harry’s words to the men around them, which makes them howl louder.

“He has not even had his turn with you? By the gods, perhaps our fair general is going soft.” He winks right in Harry’s face. “Perhaps he does love you, boy, but your Louis also loves fucking. Do not be naïve enough to think that while your back is turned he is not taking one of his men in your shared tent.”

“No…”

“There are many to choose from,” the man continues. “Many men who are tight and beautiful and a lot less…” He gestures to Harry’s hands. “A lot less _broken_ than you are.”

Harry runs at that, ignoring the sounds of cackle and jeers behind him about how he is weak and a passing fancy and unimportant. He just wants to get out of here, wants to collapse into Louis’s strong arms and hear him mutter over and over that there is no truth in their words but…

They have just voiced aloud everything Harry has feared about his pairing with Louis. He had known people would mutter their disbelief, jeer at his injuries and raise their eyebrows at the notion of the fine, brave Louis of York lying with and then planning on marrying a slave boy, and not even one of his own house on top of that. And the worst part is they are not even lying together yet, yet the soldiers made it clear that Louis only went to people like them and even him before. Does this mean he had lain with others and then slept in Harry’s bed afterwards? Does this mean he will love Harry more if they lie together, even though Harry isn’t sure he is ready to yet? Tears prick his eyes and he ducks his head, trying to wipe them on a bandaged hand before…

“Tartarus’s fire!”

He smacks straight into a body, water drenching them both from head to toe as his bucket overturns. He looks up to see Niall staring at him incredulously, eyes wide and arms out as he flicks the water from his robes. 

“By the gods, Harry, what possesses you?” 

Harry doesn’t know what to say or do, dropping the bucket and then his head into his hands. He tries to gulp air back in his lungs and there’s an instinctive part of him waiting for a yelling or even a strike but instead he feels a strong but gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Harry?” Niall says again. “Harry, are you hurt?”

“I don’t…” Harry splutters, rubbing up his arms with his grubby bandages to try and stop the goosebumps prickling up his skin. “No, I…”

“Where is Louis?” Niall asks. “Do you want me to fetch him?”

Harry shakes his head quickly. “No. I do not always need Louis to take care of me!” he barks out in one breath before slapping a bandaged hand over his mouth. Niall raises an eyebrow but nods slowly. 

“Okay.” He draws the word out slowly, a confused lilt to his voice. “I shall send another slave to the well for your water.” Harry goes to shake his head again but Niall stops him. “Harry, you are shaking and you are drenched. As your friend, I am telling you that it would be easier to simply ask a slave to do it while you change and get yourself dry.”

Harry wants to scream. He wants to shout that Niall is only his friend because of Louis, wants to shout that Louis is not the only reason he has worth and that Niall would barely spare him a second glance or a kind word if he was still a slave of Liam’s. But he doesn’t, he simply shoves past Niall with a whimper and charges down towards the riverbank. 

He sits there, breathing heavily into his hands until a tentative hand touches him on his shoulder. “Master Harry?” a slave asks slowly, stepping back and bowing his head. “General Louis is looking for you. General Niall asked me to fetch you and to, um, remind you that your hands need to be rebandaged.” 

“If General Louis wants me so badly then he can come to me himself, not send someone else,” Harry snaps. He huffs out a deep breath. “Apologies, I did not mean to shout at you. But yes, tell my… tell Louis if he wants me he can find me himself.”

The slave nods and scampers off. Harry feels a little bad that he may have sent the slave off to get shouted at by Louis but he really does want to be alone right now. He simply pushes his bare feet into the sand and feels it slide through his toes. 

He isn’t expecting Louis to traipse down to the river flanked by two slaves holding bowls of water and bandages but all of a sudden there’s another hand on his shoulder, this time one that is a lot softer and a lot more familiar. 

“Harry,” he hears quietly from his side as Louis drops down to sit next to him. “Love, what have I done?”

“Go away,” Harry mumbles, trying to fight the instinct that tells him to curl into his lover’s arms and instead shuffles away. “Go away, I just wish to be alone for a time.”

Louis sighs. “I do not wish you to be alone, my love. It is not that I do not trust our men but some of them are thugs and brutes and may wish to hurt you. They are men out there who would see you as a challenge and try and have you and I would rather kill them then let that happen."

“I am aware,” Harry snaps in a shaky voice, “that I am seen as such. I have heard them speaking, I have heard them shout after me, I have had them spit insults at me telling me that all I am is a slave with a tight hole.” He breaks off, weeping into his hands and tugging himself away from Louis’s grip again. 

Louis growls and dismisses the slaves away hurriedly before he gently wraps his hands around Harry’s wrists, pulling them away from his eyes. “Harry.”

“Are you lying with them?” Harry shouts suddenly, yanking his arms away and wrapping them around himself defensively. “They told me you had lain with them before and you had lain with many of them. Well? Have you?”

Louis takes a deep breath. “ _Oipho,”_ he mumbles. “This is not how I wanted to have this conversation. But Liam did not lie when he said he was unsure if I was ever to settle down. Yes, I have lain with a few men in the legion. I cannot tell you how many but I have. The last thing I want to do is lie to you, Harry, but…”

“So why have you dragged me here?” Harry spits, furiously wiping at his eyes. “You say you love me but because I am not yet ready to sleep with you then you have lain with your soldiers?”

“No,” Louis says firmly. He gently reaches out for Harry’s wrist and starts unwrapping the bandage from it before Harry can argue. “No, Harry, I would never…”

“Then why did they say it?” Harry cries, slumping his shoulders in defeat. “Why do they wish to hurt me? What have I done?”

Louis sighs, gently lowering Harry’s hand into the cool water the slave brought down to wash it. 

“Because they are jealous, most likely,” he says matter-of-factly. “Because you are beautiful and brave and I did not see them worthy of anything more than a tight hole.”

Harry sniffs and shakes his head. 

“Harry, I love you with all I have,” he says softly, kissing his shoulder. “I hate that they have hurt you this way but I can promise you that I love you and I would never lie with anyone else now that I am loyal to you. You are so much more than a tight hole and I care not if you wish to lie with me tomorrow or on our wedding night or in two years from now. I just want your happiness.”

Harry shakes his head again. “You speak these words and I want to believe you, I do but…”

Louis’s face falls but he kisses his shoulder again as he rubs the soothing ointment into his healing hands. “If you do not believe me then I understand. I understand that I have given you no reason to apart from my words against theirs and I just wish I could give you a hundred reasons that would make you see for yourself.”

“I feel like,” Harry sobs out, “our pairing is just made of you promising me these things and I cannot see what I give you in return that would make you want to keep me by your side. I want to be good and I want to pleasure you and love you like you deserve…”

“Pleasuring me is the last thing you need to worry about,” Louis says, gently stroking Harry’s tears away with his thumb. “As for the other things, I believe you love me. Do you believe I love you?”

There’s a pause, a long drawn out silence in which Louis suddenly feels he might throw up because Harry just stays silent, wiping his face with his dirty hand. 

“You… you do not believe I love you?” Louis says softly, hurt and panicked. “I see…”

“I believe you love me,” Harry says quietly. “I do not understand why but I believe it. I also do not know how long it will last but I just…”

“I have no intention of ever stopping loving you,” Louis says firmly. “You are all I want for the rest of my days, that I can promise.” He sighs. “Words, words again and I am sorry…” He sniffs. “May I wash your other hand, my love?”

Harry moves his hand over and Louis starts the process again, gently unwrapping the bandage and sinking it into the second bowl of water. “It is still so hard,” he mumbles, hissing at the temperature change. “Everyone can tell I do not belong here. I feel as if I do not belong here. The only two people I feel who actually care for me as a person are you and Liam, not even Niall or any of the _taxiarchos…”_

“Does Niall still talk to you poorly?” Louis interrupts. “Was it him who made these comments?”

Harry gapes at him. “You have lain with Niall?”

Louis’s eyes go wide and he pulls a face. “Many, many years ago. The academy was a place where most people had lain with most people.” He sighs. “I suppose I should also tell you I have lain with Liam. Just once with Niall and several times with Liam, but, um…” He coughs awkwardly. “Perhaps now is not the time to speak of this. I will tell you one day but I sense now if not the time, love.”

“I don’t want to hear about you sleeping with our friends, certainly not right now anyway,” Harry says in a small voice. “I don’t know what I want to hear, I cannot lie.”

“I love you,” Louis says. “There is such a huge difference between passions of the body and passions of the soul. Before I knew you I did take part in many passions of the body but I would take my love for you over any pleasures of the body from any other a hundred times over.” He sighs. “I do not know what else I can offer you unless you tell me who has made you doubt that you are the centre of my world.”

“I do love you,” Harry says, gripping at Louis’s arms with his freshly bandaged hands. “I just… sometimes I cannot help but doubt… not our love but, I do not know, your choosing of me in the first place.”

Louis smiles into Harry’s neck. “Luckily for you I have never doubted my choosing of you.”

“I hate that I am simply your possession,” Harry says quietly. “I know before that I was Liam’s possession but I am your possession whether my freedom matters or not. It is radical for our city that a man of your standing wishes to marry a slave already and that is before the city even truly knows.”

“Then let us be radical,” Louis shrugs. “I would rather be radical and wake up to you every morning than to marry someone I was instructed to and not feel love. With you I can finally understand why Liam smiles so much.”

Harry finally smiles at that. “You are so soft. Can you imagine if your soldiers knew you were as sappy as you are to me?”

“Another reason why you are so special, my love,” Louis grins. “Only you can know how much I put on a face. For all they know I am terrifying and vicious.”

Harry giggles and Louis bares his teeth, laughing into Harry’s mouth as he surges forward and joins their lips. Louis slides his hand up to sit at the base of Harry’s neck and draws him in closer so by the end of it he’s essentially sitting in Harry’s lap, kissing him like he always wants to be. He presses him down against the bank and licks into his mouth, arms pillaring him in in a way that he hopes will make Harry feel safe and secure. 

“Will you tell me who made you doubt?” Louis asks after they’ve pulled apart. Harry shakes his head, his curls bouncing and tangling with the grass. Louis scrunches his brows but Harry reaches up and just tenderly rubs his thumb across them to smooth them out. 

“I do not want to dwell,” he shrugs as best he can from his position. “I… I trust you, I do trust you but it may take a little time, I am unsure.”

“You know I care for you irreparably and unconditionally though, yes?” Louis asks again, because he has to make sure; the idea of him feeling like he was being dragged across land and sea because he felt like he couldn’t say no (despite what he told Liam) makes his heart feel heavy and his mouth feel dry. 

“I…” Harry sighs, cupping Louis’s face delicately. “It is not you I doubt. I believe you will do all you can to keep us together and to keep me happy, of course, but what if the world doesn’t want us together?”

Louis kisses him again because he doesn’t want to see the sadness in Harry’s eyes, the forlornness of his expression or the tightness of his frown. He kisses him until he doesn’t remember what it felt like to not have Harry’s lips on his and he is grateful that Harry has made no effort to pull back either.

They kiss until Harry’s stomach rumbles loudly and Louis can’t help but giggle, despite the weird tension. “Have you not eaten yet, my love?”

Harry shakes his head. “I had planned to come back to our tent, but, um…”

“No matter,” Louis insists, leaning back and pulling Harry upright. “I shall have us breakfast served in our tent and then… well, you can do whatever you wish, love. I will just be in the tent with Niall and Liam.”

“I, er, may I sit in with you?” Harry asks in a small voice. “I know I am no general but I do not wish to be alone when that brute is out there.”

“By the gods, you think I would leave you alone when someone threatens you?” Louis brushes Harry’s curls from his eyes. “Will you tell me what he looked like, at least?”

Harry pauses. “He was, um, he was tall and… Louis, he smelt _awful._ A foul stench.” Louis snorts. “And he had, um, a scar of some sort on his cheek. I did not hear his name.”

“Kleitos,” Louis groans straight away. “And he told you we had lain together? A likely story. Even when I was drunk out of my wits I would never have touched him, let alone lain with him.” He touches Harry’s cheek. “You have nothing to fear there, my love.”

Harry nods, smiling softly. “That is good to know. I had hoped you would say that.”

“Do not worry yourself,” Louis says before he groans. “Come on, my love, we should let us get us something to eat and drink and then we shall see Liam and start the toils of the day, yes?” Harry smiles and lets Louis help him carefully to his feet. Louis then takes one of Harry’s bigger hands in both his own and leads him back towards the campsite, kicking rocks aside and chatting quietly. They find Liam and Niall sat outside the battle tent, each balancing a bowl of broth in their laps.

“Everything okay?” Niall asks, smiling up at them curiously. “Harry, are you well?”

Louis nods for him. “Kleitos,” he simply says. Harry’s confused at first but then Liam’s eyebrows shoot up and Niall makes a noise between a groan and a growl.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks Harry. “Is that why you fled from me?”

“No, no,” Harry mumbles, “he just… he said some words and put his hand under my cloak, that is all.”

“Wait,” Louis says, face setting itself in a dangerous line. “He put his hand on you? Why, that filthy…” He whips round and growls as he spots Kleitos walking around in the distance. “I shall cut his fucking head off.”

“Louis, no,” Harry says. “I am fine and I wish to forget, please do not do anything.”

“He _touched_ you,” Louis repeats, wrapping a possessive arm around Harry’s waist. “You are not his to touch and he made you _cry,_ Harry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry pleads. “Can we just eat, please?”

Louis doesn’t look convinced but Liam coughs and signals over a slave, who scurries off to fetch them two bowls of broth. Harry sits down on the floor and pulls Louis into the V of his legs, wrapping two arms around his waist so he cannot storm off.

After they have eaten, the four of them and a few of the _taxiarchos_ gather in the tent and discuss their plans for the next few days. They hope to only have to walk for another three days in total before they reach the port city of Argos, where they will be setting sail from. From there, they will set sail to Troy, which Louis has been told in the past can take up to two months depending on the weather. He hopes that Zeus will stay true to his promise to Liam because he does not wish to have to make many stops (though he knows that they will run out of food and water so they will have to stop sometimes).

Satisfied that their plan makes sense for them, the men all disperse and the four men traipse back out, before separating to their own tents for a nap before supper. Sleep is going to be rare while they are at sea, they all know, so they wish to catch up as best they can before it becomes hard to.

Louis and Harry duck back inside their tent and shed their cloaks, before Harry lies down on their makeshift mattress and opens his arms to accommodate Louis’s slightly smaller body. Louis kisses his neck and closes his eyes, his eyelashes brushing gently over Harry’s skin and making him feel wanted and cared for in a way he cannot find the words to explain. He falls asleep like that, warm and content with the person he cares for most in his arms, also warm and content despite his earlier anger.

They wake up slowly as the calls for dinner sound around their campsite. Harry groans as Louis shakes him awake because he’s warm and he’s comfy, though he smiles as Louis peppers little kisses on his jaw and cheeks. Eventually he yawns and wakes himself up enough to slip his tongue into Louis’s mouth for a while, kissing him properly for the first time that day.

Eventually they pull apart and share a soft smile, before Louis shuffles out from under the sheets and coaxes him out. “You need to eat, love,” he says, passing Harry’s clock over. “And also I want you to keep me warm.”

Harry grins as he stands, fastening his cloak around his shoulders before he follows Louis out of there. Niall is already outside, sat in between their tents with a bowl of stewed vegetables in his hands, wolfing it down with bread messily. Louis settles on the ground and pulls Harry into his side, signalling their slave over for two bowls of stew, a loaf of bread and then bowls to wash Harry’s hands with. The slave nods and scuttles off, leaving Harry and Louis to chat with Niall while they wait for their food.

Their meal is pleasant and filled with happy chatter. Liam eventually stumbles out of his tent, his eyes heavy with sleep and his mouth wide as he yawns and he slumps on the floor next to Niall, rubbing his eyes and ignoring their laughter as a slave brings over more stew.

It’s early evening as Louis finally unwraps Harry’s bandages and soaks his hands. The wounds are a lot less severe so the bandages only need to be changed twice a day, but Louis still does it with the upmost care, soothing the ointment into his skin and rinsing what little dried blood still gathers off.

“There you are, love,” Louis says as the ends of the second bandage are tied around his wrist. “How do they feel?”

“Tight enough and comfortable,” Harry says, smiling and ducking down to give Louis a grateful kiss on the cheek. “I am still hungry though, would you like some more stew?”

“Mmmm, perhaps a little,” Louis muses. “We do still have some bread left.”

“Shall I fetch us a bowl to share?”

“Have the slave do it,” Louis says.

Harry shakes his head. “Nonsense, it will take me a minute or even less.” He picks up Louis’s empty bowl and shuffles over to the big pot of stew that a slave is stirring. Louis grins as he goes and Niall slaps him on the ankle.

“You look as if you would rather eat him than the stew,” he grins and Louis cackles.

“Perhaps I would,” he says airily. “He has a fine body, after all.”

Liam and Niall continue to tease him so he tears his eyes away from Harry to focus on matching their retorts. He leans forward and jabs Niall in the ribs, who squawks and rolls over, batting him away and hooting.

“Louis, by the gods, stop, I am so ticklish… Louis, stop, _stop!”_ He sits up suddenly as he catches a glimpse of what’s happening over Louis’s shoulder. “ _Oipho,_ Louis, stop and look!”

Louis sits back, confused, and then scrambles to his feet, seizing the dagger from his waist and pulling it out of its sheath as he strides over to Harry’s side. The second he’s in his eye line, Kleitos steps back from where his hands were gripping at Harry’s hips and Harry whimpers gratefully as Louis slides in between the pair, his sharp silver blade coming up and sitting against the side of Kleitos’s throat.

“Kleitos, what on Gaia’s green earth do you think you are doing?” he spits, fisting his free hand in the front of Kleitos’s collar. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Kleitos looks more shocked than scared, which makes Louis’s blood boil even more. “General, I was simply offering your slave boy here some, er, some fun if you were to ever find yourself too busy with the battle planning. I would hate to see his needs go unsatisfied.”

Louis slaps him. “Touch him again and I shall have you flogged, man. He is my partner, not my slave, and you would do well to remember it.”

“But… but General,” Kleitos stammers, eyes still wide in confusion. “Are… are you honestly saying you have chosen this slave to lie with over any of the men in the ranks?”

“What is so hard to understand about that?” Kleitos opens his mouth to answer but instead Louis shakes his head, digging the dagger ever so slightly harder into his skin. “I have changed my mind, I do not care to hear your words speaking ill of Harry.”

“But General…”

“You have dared to do me this disrespect,” Louis growls, “in plain sight and plain words. You thought it would be acceptable to speak to my intended husband like this and you expect me not to hold anger towards you?”

Kleitos’s face sets in a tight line. “General, listen to me before you hold anger my way. You are well known in your reputation.” Louis raises his eyebrows. “Forgive me for thinking that you would choose a love but continue to lie with others. It is what most of your kind would do. I did not think that it would make you so soft. He is only a little bitch slave boy, after all.”

Harry whimpers behind him and Louis reaches behind him, trying to take his hand but it’s pulled away from him. He pretends it doesn’t sting as much as it does and continues on. “If you think that is how love works,” he says in a dangerous voice, “if you think love simply makes you soft then yes, perhaps I _have_ gone soft, but at least I have Harry. If you _ever_ refer to him in words that hurt him again, Kleitos, I will have you executed. He is your superior now and you shall view him and refer to him as such.”

Now Kleitos just looks angry. “I still do not understand. You could have any man in this rank, any man or woman in Sparta even, and yet you choose an injured slave boy. You could marry someone who would one day become a general and you would rule our city together. Someone who has fought loyally by your side for many years and cares deeply for the future of Sparta, perhaps.”

Louis scoffs. “If you are speaking of yourself, Kleitos, then you are more of a fool than I thought. You are not skilled enough to ever govern a legion, nor do you care for Sparta. You simply care for gold and glory. And also, I am sure I am not alone in thinking you are perhaps the vilest creature in my army. I would rather wed Paris himself than do so much as kiss your mouth.”

Kleitos flushes a deep red as a ripple of laughter spreads across the crowds that have gathered to watch the scene. Niall and Liam are also by his side, Liam’s hand around Harry’s wrist and murmuring something that Louis can’t hear. Louis’s still glaring up at Kleitos, knife still poised against his throat as Kleitos composes himself, glaring back at him.

“It matters not that you think of me like that,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the blade. “Just know that I touched your lover’s hole under his cloak before you did and know that I would rather never marry than marry a slave boy. All they are good for is sex and yet your boy will not even do that for you. Must be a good… _aaaaaaahhhhhh!”_

Louis pulls the blade away from his throat and plunges it into the top of his arm, twisting it slightly so it cuts deeper. The laughter of the crowd turns to a huge gasp and murmurs of shock and Harry pulls out of Liam’s hold and flees back to their tent. Louis considers calling after him but he knows he needs to finish this – he has a front to keep up, regretfully first - so he pulls his dagger out, watching Kleitos drop to the floor in agony.

“Get the fuck out of my army. You are to go back to Sparta, or run away and never come back; I care not. _Never_ touch my lover and _never_ speak of him like that again or next time, I swear on my life, I will stab you in the neck. Now get out of my sight,” he spits.

Kleitos whines as he stands off, awkwardly hobbling back towards his tent. The crowd part for him easily and Louis flicks as much blood off his knife as he can before he slides it back into his belt.

“And let it be known that that is a punishment that you shall all receive if you do not treat Harry as he is. He is no longer a slave, but we are to be married once we win this war. I do not think I am a cruel or unfair general but that is the one thing I will not tolerate. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, General!” the crowd call back, standing straight.

“Very good,” Louis says. “Luckily I believe very few of you to be as pig-headed and foolish as Kleitos so I do not think I will need to do it again. Now let us get some rest in preparation for tomorrow. For Sparta!”

“Sparta!” the crowd bellows back and Louis nods, before turning away and hurrying back towards his tent.

“Wait, brother, slow down,” Liam says, hurrying after him and clasping him on the shoulder. “That was, um, that was… _oipho,_ Louis, what was that?”

Louis turns angrily and faces Liam, his pupils blown wide. “You would have done the same for Zayn, do not _dare_ tell me you would not.”

“Louis…”

“Liam, please,” Louis says almost desperately. “I do not know what else I can do.”

“Do what?”

“I just… I want his happiness!” Louis almost shouts. Liam shakes his head and directs Louis towards the battle tent, wanting them to at least be hidden if Louis is shouting or perhaps even cries, Niall following close behind.

“Brother,” Liam says once they are out of sight. “Brother, it is understandable to want his happiness but… is he not happy?”

“I do not… I do not think so,” Louis croaks. “Kleitos said words to him this morning that really hurt him; he _touched_ him, Liam, and yet Harry says that he simply voiced what he feels inside anyway. How can I make it so he knows I care for him with my all?”

“I do not understand,” Niall says, furrowing his brows. “My wife was too a slave, and yet once she realised and understood that what I felt for her was more than infatuation then we, I don’t, we sort of had an understanding that I know the other slaves to be her friends and sisters so I try to not speak ill to them. That was all. When it came to moving her into my chambers and such, it moved pretty easily.”

“When Zayn came to me for the first time, he too was uncertain and felt awkward but…”

“No, I am sorry but  I fear that Zayn is not a fair example here,” Niall interrupts, gently touching Liam’s shoulder. “There is a vast difference between a slave and a son of Zeus, brother. A son of Zeus knows he is superior to most and will act accordingly; it was nothing he was unused to.” He coughs. “Leigh-Anne hails from North Africa in origin. I know… I do not care because I love her so but I know people talk. I know people speak of how Niall of Mullingar as someone who has settled so I…” He sighs. “I know I should not care about their thoughts, because I am happy and wealthy enough, but it does get to me. My father and Greg also have looked down on me for this, and before her I was very much a stickler for ranks and keeping people in their places. But she was a slave and I love her.” He shakes his head. “I do not know what I am saying but I think I understand a little where you are coming from. I think Leigh-Anne fought less but I think she did was she thought would be easiest to do. Harry will get there but this is a big adjustment, going from being a slave to being yours to now being yours on this voyage. Just allow him time.”

Louis rubs at his eyes. “He says he loves me, and that I do not doubt, but he does say he needs time to adjust to this life. Which I will give him all he needs, of course. And I try to do what I think he will want me to do, or say what he will want to hear, yet there he runs!” He shakes his head. “I must go to him. I do not want him to think I am a hurtful or cruel, but I fear he may now be scared of me and that is the last thing I ever intended to do, you know this.”

“Aye, we do,” Liam says softly. “Best of luck, brother.”

Louis claps Niall on the shoulder before he heads out, nerves sitting heavy in his stomach. He sighs and takes several deep breaths as he walks to his tent where he ducks inside, unprepared for the sight of Harry gathering his things together, his cloak draped across his shoulders and a piece of twine keeping his long curls out of his face.

“Harry?” Louis says in a small voice, his heart nearly dropping out through his stomach. Harry freezes, his hand still poised to drop something in his satchel. “Are you… oh Hades, I fucked up so much, did I not?”

“Louis,” Harry whispers. “Louis, I…”

“Tell me what to do,” Louis begs. “Tell how I can make you stay with me. I cannot…”

“Louis, it is clear that I do not belong here,” Harry says, dropping his satchel and walking over to where he’s stood with slumped shoulders and wide eyes. “I do not want people to get hurt because they cannot understand us, even if they do say things that hurt me.”

“He _touched_ you, Harry,” Louis says pleadingly. “He touched you and he spoke of you as if you were a whore or a piece of meat and I could not stand it, I could not…”

“I do not belong here,” Harry repeats, gingerly taking Louis’s hands in his. “This morning, by the river… you promised to love me for the rest of your days, did you not?” Louis nods. “Will you still love me when the battle is won?”

“Yes, yes, of course, but I do not want to win it without you by my side,” Louis croaks. “And it is near nightfall and it is cold… do not leave, Harry, do not. I need you and I…”

Harry sighs. “It is cold, I suppose.” He sighs again and Louis takes that opportunity to wrap his arms around Harry’s waist, nuzzling into his neck. “I will stay for the night then, if, um, you still want me.”

“I want you to stay the rest of the nights,” Louis mumbles. “I need you to stay, Harry.” He pulls back and stares into his eyes. “I am sorry I hurt Kleitos and I am sorry I made you scared.”

“You didn’t… you thought I was scared? Of you?”

“Well, I did not see why else you would flee,” Louis says miserably. “I reached for your hand and you flinched away as well. I thought…”

“I wasn’t scared of you,” Harry murmurs. “I don’t like blood, you know that. And I don’t like seeing people in pain. I know not to be scared of you, do not worry about that. I _know_ you; I wake up beside you every morning and I know from your words and kisses that you put up a front for them. But I am making you weaker.” Louis opens his mouth to argue but Harry places a gentle hand over it. “I do not want them speaking ill of _you_ more than I care of what they say of me. That is what I do not want to stay around to hear.”

“Harry,” Louis says again, pulling back and gently unclasping the cloak from his shoulders. “Please do not go. I will do everything I can to show their words mean nothing to either of us.” He drops the cloak onto the stool on the other side of their tent. “Just… lie with me on our bed?”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Not to lie with me,” Louis emphasises. “But I wish to hold you properly. Especially, um, especially if this is our last night together. May we?”

Harry nods, pulling away from Louis and sitting down on their mattress where he pulls off his shoes. Louis follows suit and then pulls back the sheets, lying himself down and opening his arms for Harry to lie himself down in. Harry does so, burying his face in Louis’s neck.

“Harry?” Louis asks after a few minutes of silence where Louis simply cards his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry hums a yes. “I do not want you to go back to Sparta.”

“Louis…” Harry sighs.

“No, listen to me, love,” Louis says, shuffling down so they’re looking into each other’s eyes. “We are to arrive at Argos in three days. We are strong allies with Argos and it would be no problem for you to stay there for a time. Walking back to Sparta… love, we are seventeen days away and you would be alone and your hands could get worse and…” He tightens his grip around Harry’s waist. “Harry, please. I am begging you do not leave for Sparta.”

“Are you sure?” Harry whispers. “Because I really do not wish to walk on my own, really.”

“Then do not,” Louis says simply. “I will make sure you have a good home and foods and oils for bathing and…”

“Louis,” Harry interrupts. “That sounds better than walking to Sparta. You are so good to me, I know that. I love you, I’m so grateful to have you in my life and in my bed.”

Louis captures his lips in a kiss at that, cuddling deeper into Harry’s long body in the hope that getting closer to Harry will show him just how much he cares. They kiss for a long time, tongues sliding together and hands sliding under each other’s shirts.

“Louis,” Harry almost moans into his mouth. “Louis, wait.”

“What, my darling?”

“Do you, um, would you lie with me right now?” He flushes a deep magenta. “I mean…”

“Harry, we had this conversation this morning,” Louis says. “You said you are not ready and I am willing to wait.”

“But…”

“Harry, I care not. Still don’t, I swear on the gods.”

“Okay,” Harry mumbles. “If you are completely sure.”

“I am, love,” Louis promises, brushing the hair from his eyes. “Do you wish to sleep?”

“I think so,” Harry mumbles. “Are you to stay?”

“Of course.” Louis presses a final gentle kiss into Harry’s mouth and pulls the covers over them, letting them drift together into a peaceful sleep.

*

It takes three days for the party to arrive in Argos.

Louis keeps himself close to Harry for the entire walk, weary of letting him feel anything that he described to Louis over the past few days. Harry, in turn, is a lot more affectionate than he’s been before, almost as a comfort back to Louis that he isn’t going to bolt. It’s odd but it’s nice and Louis finally feels like they could be making some progress, whatever that entails.

They camp in fields for the remaining two nights out in the open, though morale is significantly increased once they can see the sea on the horizon at their second camp. Louis looks over to Liam, who is staring out to it in wonder and feels something in his chest tighten. For some reason, seeing the ocean just makes it feel a lot more real and a lot more intimidating, for everyone knows that the water is a cruel mistress and Poseidon is not one to take prisoners.

On the third day, they only have to walk a few miles before the grand city of Argos comes into view and there’s a collective cheer among the men as it does so. Louis looks over to Niall and Liam and Liam is sighing with relief as the gates start to open for them and the horns sound for their arrival.

It takes a long time to get such a vast amount of men inside the city walls but once they do, several city officials come to greet them.

“General Liam of Wolver?”

Liam steps forward and bows. “Greetings to you. I bring here two thousand field men, sixteen _taxiarchos_ and then myself, General Niall of Mullingar, General Louis of York and then his love, Harry.”

The official nods. “We have accommodation for your field men in the academy, of course. If you could have your _taxiarchos_ take them there now then you can accompany myself to the palace. King Paxos awaits your arrival eagerly.”

Liam smiles and nods, turning around to instruct one of the _taxiarchos_ of their plan. Once his men have begun to march away, he follows the official through the city towards the grand palace. It is a very beautiful city, with ornately decorated buildings and the sea a gorgeous green colour wherever one turns to look, it seems. Louis can’t help but smile up at Harry, whose own gorgeous green eyes are sparkling as he surveys the sea for the first time in his life. He gets a bit lost in staring at him until they come to an abrupt halt and he accidentally almost walks straight into Niall’s back.

“You will now be shown to King Paxos and his war advisors. We have set aside three guest quarters for you, all with private bathing chambers and fresh robes. I hope you find that satisfactory?”

“Most satisfactory, we are incredibly grateful that you can put us up,” Liam says, bowing again. The advisor gestures to a door down the end of the corridor so the four of them follow a slave down, who knocks and enters.

“Introducing General Liam of Wolver, General Niall of Mullingar, General Louis of York and Harry of Sparta.”

King Paxos jumps to his feet and hurries over to them, greeting Liam with a tight hug and a loud laugh. “It has been many years, my boy! I trust your journey goes as well as it can at present?”

Liam pulls back, his smile finally reaching his eyes for the first time in so long at seeing his old friend. “Aye, it fairs well. We have only had one casualty so far and that was at the fault of him, not the mission,” he says. “We owe you so much, Paxos. Thank you for your hospitality and donations.”

Paxos waves him aside. “Anything to get that Trojan pig dealt with. Apparently he has hands in stopping our boat trade of recent.”  
“That’s awful,” Liam says, shaking his head. “He will be dealt with and that is a promise to you.”  
“But more importantly to yourself, I know,” Paxos says. “Come, sit yourselves down and let us have a drink. We can discuss plans for battle later.”

Liam nods gratefully. The four of them make their way over to the couches and sit themselves down as Paxos calls for his slave. Immediately, plates of chicken and vegetables are brought in to them along with jugs of water and wine. They all dig in happily, eating until their bellies are full and they all feel a lot less weary.

Once the plates have been cleared away and Paxos has introduced them to his group of advisors, they head through to a balcony that overlooks the docks. There are six ships in the bay and Louis can also see two more being built closer towards the cliffs on the side.

“These ships will be ready for you in maybe five days?” Paxos muses. “Until then, we can sort how we can aid you. We can send out smaller ships to follow you with supplies and we can offer you refuge here on your return. We will not have room in our academies for your full army but we can offer the land around us for camping. I hope the winter months will not be too harsh.”

“This is more than we deserve, Paxos, you are very kind,” Liam says with a grateful soft smile. “I will send a messenger back to Sparta and send much trade your way as a thank you. Hopefully Anaxidamus will have enough sent that my men are not a drain on your winter resources.”

“The gods have favoured us this year,” Paxos says. He points across the balcony to where there are several large storehouses in the city. “We have had plentiful harvests and the fish have been caught in vast numbers. We have plenty for the winter months, almost too much for our small city.”

“Small but grand,” Liam says. “So you think we shall we ready to set sail in a week’s time? This is excellent news.”

“A week sounds like enough time to prepare the food stores and make sure the men are rested,” Louis chips in. “Paxos, do you know approximately how many days it will take to sail to Troy?”

“Perhaps fifty if the seas are calm,” Paxos muses. “But of recent they have been good, as I said. Fishing has been easy and I think only one boat was overturned.”

“That is good to know,” Liam nods. “Very well, we shall pray. Have you a temple to Zeus?”

“Of course,” Paxos says. “Would you have a servant take you there now?”

Liam shakes his head. “Zeus has let it known how he will speak with me but I just wished to know it could be done.”

“Then yes, it can,” Paxos says. “Would you all like to retire to your quarters perhaps? You look like you could use a night to bathe and sleep on a proper bed under proper sheets.”

“That would be wonderful,” Niall groans, stretching his back out. “Could I ask for some more supper to be sent to my room?”

Paxos throws his head back with laughter. “Of course, Niall. You have changed little, I see. Anything else for any of you? Any oils in particular for bathing? Any women?”

Niall shakes his head proudly. “Certainly not, Paxos, did you not know I am a taken man now?”

“By the gods!” Paxos laughs. “You are telling me an untruth, Niall, m’lad. You are sworn to a woman?”

Niall beams. “Aye, I am. The most beautiful woman on this earth, she is.”

“Then what is she doing with you?”

“Very funny, all of you,” Niall shouts over the roar of laughter. “Just the food will suffice, thank you Paxos, you old bully.”

The laughter continues as Paxos has a slave show each of them to their individual rooms. Louis keeps an arm around Harry’s waist as they walk through the lavishly decorated hallways, glaring off the stares of the guards and the other nobles who they pass.

Once they are shown their room and the slave turns to leave to fetch someone to prepare their baths, Louis stops her hurriedly.

“May I ask, can you bring us two bowls of ice water and fresh bandages for his hands when we have bathed?”

The slave nods and hurries off. Louis turns back to Harry, who is stood at the window staring over to the ocean again.

“Love,” Louis murmurs, coming to stand beside him. He places a gentle hand on the small of his back. “Do you wish for some more food, or perhaps some wine?”

“It’s so big,” Harry says instead of replying. “I pictured it almost like the river at home, I did not realise it would go on for as far as the eye can see. It is so beautiful.”

Louis smiles softly. “It is very beautiful, isn’t it?”

Harry turns to him, looking elated but also rather cautious. “I… thank you, Louis, for bringing me to see it. I did, um, I feared I would spend my whole life in Sparta and not see what the whole world has to offer so, um, thank you.”

“Once we are back and everything is to right then I will take you wherever you would have us go,” Louis says, taking Harry’s hands in his. “Messina with Niall, perhaps some more cities by the sea around our fair land?”

“You mean that?” Harry asks, eyes bulging out of his head. “Louis…”

“Of course I mean it,” Louis says with a shrug. “I love you, do I not?”

There’s a pause. “You really love me,” Harry says in a quiet voice, not questioning but simply stating facts. “You’d be willing to travel for days just so I could see the sea again.”

“Yes, you fool,” Louis grins. “I would very much like to keep you smiling like that forever.”

Harry surges forward and kisses him at that, fitting his hand in the back of Louis’s greasy hair and tugging him close. Louis’s shocked to say the least but he kisses him back with all he has, winding his arms around his neck and going to goo in his hold.

They are tentatively interrupted from their snog by the embarrassed slave, announcing that their baths are ready. Louis pulls away and kisses him one final time before he coughs nervously.

“Would you, um, would you want to bathe with me?”

“And see you naked?” Harry asks. Louis nods, trying not to roll his eyes at the comment. “Um, yes?”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” Harry says, slightly more surely but still with a hint of nerves. “I mean, if we are to be married then I will have to see this at some point.”

“Harry,” Louis says, stroking his hands up and down his arms. “You have watched me piss next to you. We share a bed so no doubt you have felt my morning excitement press into your back. You have little to be afraid of, love.”

“I know,” Harry says with a nervous huff of laughter. “I do not know why I am so afraid, or what it is that I am even afraid of.”

“Then let me show you that you have nothing to fear,” Louis says, taking his hand and leading him to the bathing room. There are two slaves inside, one pouring oils into the water and the other moving the water around. “May you give us space, if you please?”

The slaves bow and nod, scuttling out and closing the separating curtain across the entranceway. Louis gingerly steps back from Harry’s hold and starts to slowly pull off his robes, eyes still trained on Harry’s as he eventually is simply stood there in his dirty undergarments.

“Now you, my love,” he says quietly and Harry gives him a small nod before he too sheds his robes and is only left in his undergarments. They stand there almost awkwardly, the air heavy with a weird electric tension because Louis coughs. “I have had you in my mouth before, have I not? I like what I see, love. A lot, may I add. You are very beautiful.”

Harry smiles at that and gently pushes his undergarments down so they pool at his feet. He stands naked and flushed as Louis does the same, then lets Louis take his hand and gently leads him into the water.

“Here, love,” Louis says, letting go of his hand and ducking himself into the warm pool. “By the gods, this feels wonderful. So warm.”

Harry hums his agreement as he copies him, sliding down the side so he’s sat on one of the built in seat, his body submerged up to his neck. “I feel like this is something I will never get used to.”

Louis furrows his brows. “Being warm?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, being submerged in warm water. We used to heat a little water up and simply wash ourselves with that but the idea of a bath was a luxury.”

Louis grins, sitting himself on the seat opposite Harry and leaning back so his toes can stick out the water. “You are even more beautiful all wet, you know. I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to see it back in Sparta. I’ll wager it is a sight that would have made me approach you faster.”

Harry shakes his head while biting back a grin, flicking some water in Louis’s face. “Stop.”

“Did you just flick water at me?” Louis asks, flicking some back. Harry splutters and flicks more back, starting a water fight until their hair is covered and Harry’s rubbing at his sore eyes. Louis takes the opportunity to climb into his lap and wrap his arms around his neck, nuzzling his damp face into his warm skin.

“Lou…”

Their cocks slide together without Louis intending them to and he realises with a jolt that Harry is halfway to hard. Harry’s flushing and his head is turned away so Louis tentatively places two fingers on his cheek and turns him so they’re staring at each other.

“Harry?”

“I am sorry,” Harry near whimpers. “I, er, I told you that I did not want this but I just… I really want you to touch me. Please.”

“There is no shame in that, my love,” Louis whispers back, afraid that speaking too loudly might spook him. “I can make you come, would you like that?”

Harry nods and rests his forehead on Louis’s shoulder as Louis’s hand wraps around Harry’s length and starts stroking it slowly. It’s a little odd doing this against the drag of the water but that almost seems to make it better for Harry, who is hard in very little time at all. He lets out a pretty little moan as Louis starts sucking on his neck, kissing over the broken skin and then peppering kisses across his jaw and neck.

Harry comes with a tiny cry not long after, whole body going taught and then relaxing into the seat but not once lessening his supportive grip around Louis. Louis milks him through it, slowing his strokes gradually until he pulls off, letting Harry’s cum float off through the oily water.

“How was that?” he asks in a low voice, hoping his own erection isn’t poking too hard into Harry’s belly.

“G-good,” Harry stammers, knocking his head onto Louis’s shoulder. “Needed it. I did not know I needed it but I did.”

Louis snorts. “Good, love. I am glad you feel more relaxed now.”

“Shall I, um, I want to touch you too,” Harry says, going even redder than before. Louis pulls back, eyes wide.

“You wish to?”

Harry nods quickly, adjusting his hold on Louis so one arm is splayed across his back and then wraps the other around Louis’s cock, stroking him sloppily. It’s rushed and a little bit strange as Harry’s hands are still littered with scabs, but Harry looks so focused, tongue poking out between his teeth as he concentrates on pushing Louis over the edge. When Louis comes, it’s with a gasp of Harry’s name and he slumps forward onto his shoulder, cuddling him close.

“Thank you,” he breathes, grinning as Harry shakes his hand in the water to get Louis’s cum off and then wraps it around his back. “Thank you, I needed that also.”

They stay cuddled together until the water is cold and they have to ask for another to be prepared so they can wash the grease from their hair and actually take the time to clean themselves. Once they get out, they dress in fresh sleep robes and Louis collects the bowls of water from outside the doorway where the slave left it waiting for them.

“Your hands are already much better,” he says as he rubs ointment into them. “Perhaps you will not need bandages for much longer.”

Harry scrunches up his eyebrows. “May I go without tonight?”

Louis looks taken aback. “Really? Why tonight?”

Harry stares at his hands. “Here we are in clean surroundings and there is little danger to us. I will not hurt myself if I sleep without them, please.”

Louis hesitates but eventually nods. “Okay, my love. If you are certain.”

“Thank you,” Harry says with a small smile. He takes his hand out of Louis’s and balls it into a gentle fist. “This feels so good, Louis, you cannot understand.”

“They have healed well,” Louis notes, guiding one to his mouth and kissing it softly. “It might do them some good to be aired for a time.” He calls the slave to clear the bowls away and dismisses him for the night. “Shall we lie down on our proper bed with proper soft sheets?”

Harry giggles. “A luxury indeed that I would love to partake in. Just let me wee first.”

Louis kisses his shoulder and lets him walk towards the bathing rooms before he goes over to the bed and slides into it happily, stretching out his tired limbs across the comfy mattress and feeling soft sheets rather than scratchy blankets against his skin. He closes his eyes for a few seconds until he feels a familiar weight slide in next to him and then he curls into Harry’s chest, pressing his lips into the space just above his heart.

“You are very warm,” he notes, gazing up at Harry’s smiling face. “I am glad we get a week more of this before I need to leave you.”

“I know,” Harry says, the smile sliding from his face. “A week seems like a long time but it is not, is it?”

“Not as long as I would like it to be,” Louis agrees. “Yet here we have time. So let us use it while we have it.”

“To do what, Lou?” Harry yawns, shuddering and burying his face into Louis’s still damp hair.

“I was going to, um, well, I had an idea but if you would rather sleep, my love…”

“No, no, I want to stay awake with you,” Harry says, pulling back and sliding down. He keeps his arm draped over Louis’s waist but slides down so they’re staring into each other’s eyes properly. “What do you wish to do?”

“I wish just to hear you speak,” Louis says after a brief pause, his cheeks flaming as he says it. “I realised that I know you, yet I know little _of_ you. I wish to know of your childhood and your desires and just… I want to be able to love all of you, as sappy as that sounds.”

Harry simply stares. “You… you really wish for me to tell you of my childhood? Because it was fairly boring and there is little to tell, I…”

“I do not care,” Louis shrugs. “Tell me and I am sure I will find it interesting.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because it is you I am listening to, obviously.”

Harry smiles again. “You _are_ going soft, Louis of York. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you because once you hear of how adorable I was then you will not recover.”

“Unlikely,” Louis snorts. “I bet you were a right little terror. You and your stupid baby curls. I wish I could see what you had looked like. A real cute face but behind it a menace that I imagine drove babe Liam awry.”

Harry’s eyes crinkle as he smiles and he surges forward to kiss Louis, laughing into his mouth as he does so. It’s a kiss of nothing but pure happiness and as Louis laces their fingers together, he knows they’re going to be okay. It might take a while but there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to keep Harry as his forever.

Harry pulls back and shakes his head. “I was actually a quiet babe, if you can imagine.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I bet you are lying. I will ask Liam tomorrow.”

“Let me start my story or else I shall fall asleep before I get the chance to finish,” Harry pouts.

“Okay, I am sorry,” Louis says with a chuckle. He presses one final kiss into his lips and settles against the pillows to listen. “Begin.” Harry beams.

“I have one sister…” he starts and Louis squeezes his hand. He listens until they both cannot keep their eyes open and falls asleep with his face pressed unattractively into Harry’s chest, but he would not have it any other way.

 


	6. The Trepidation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Liam and Louis fall out, Niall wishes the sea voyage over, Harry doesn't know where he stands and Zayn is moved to a new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY AN UPDATE. I cannot believe I haven't had a chance to write this for over a month, goddammit university life. Anyway, here we gooooo! 
> 
> (Warnings for gore, blood, pretty disgusting treatment of women etc)

The sight of two thousand men boarding onto the naval ships at the dock makes Liam’s chest swell with pride.

They’ve been in Argos nine days when they get the message from the shipyard that the ships are all prepared for sail. Paxos predicts it will take about two further days to load the ships up with supplies of food and then they can sail. Those two days seemed the longest of the journey so far, despite the fact that they involved little more than catching up with old friends and dozing in the midday sun.

Perhaps they feel long because of the hours Liam spends with his hands fisted in his bed sheets, trying not to touch his long neglected cock to the sounds of his best friend and his lover next door. It seems that now Louis and Harry have begun to explore each other’s bodies, they are unwilling to stop and it makes life rather hard for Liam, who resides only in the next room and shares a balcony with them. He is reluctant to admit that he has needs that need to be attended to, because he misses Zayn’s heart more than he misses that aspect of their relationship, yet he lies in bed most nights with an aching cock and a sweaty brow.

It’s difficult to see Louis be so happy and he almost wishes that he and Louis had never had sex back in the academy because the noises from the next room are too familiar to both his ears and his dick. He feels like a terrible husband for it but as he wraps a hand around himself and tugs himself to relief, his teeth sinking into his wrist to keep from crying out, for a few sweet moments of relief he can’t bring himself to care.

The day before they are due to sail, the second legion of troops arrives and a temporary camp is set up just outside the city for them so they can take the places of the troops currently residing in the barracks of Argos. The amount of men is vaster than Liam had originally thought and he is once again struck by how many people are helping the mission and are all eager for Paris’s demise.

He has never been on a sea voyage as long as this in the position of power he holds now, where he will have his own quarters and study area. Louis and Niall will take up the leading positions on other ships, so he will not be able to have them to keep him company which is a slight blow, yet he and Louis are currently not speaking after an argument over him not turning up to a meeting one morning turned sour.

It all began a few days before, when Louis had turned up late to their council sporting an all-too familiar limp and a waddle to his step. Liam would normally not begrudge him that – Hades knows he has turned up late for things because he has been unable to leave his bed and Zayn’s arms – but he was kept awake the night before by their moans and groans and he found himself irritable. He was, however, willing to let it go until it happened again the next day, when Louis didn’t turn up to assist with the weapon check at the barracks until they were down to the last hundred men.

It turns into an argument between them when Louis didn’t turn up at all to aid the men arriving to Argos and to make sure that camp was set and when a slave was sent to find him, they came back to report that he was still napping with his love and they had ask their personal handmaidens to not disturb them for the rest of the afternoon.

Furious at the disrespect and Louis’s newfound apparent change of heart on how dedicated he is to the cause, he calls for Louis that night while he dines. Louis turns up as Liam is finishing up his meal, giddy and tipsy as he strolls in and his hand clutching a goblet.

“Brother, to what do I owe this pleasure?” he says as he plops himself down onto one of Liam’s chairs, reaching for Liam’s own jug of wine to fill up his cup.

“You are drunk,” Liam says tightly, trying to prise it back. Louis snorts a laugh into his drink.

“Perhaps a little. I have been teaching Harry of the differences between wines,” Louis hiccups. “Did you know that before our pairing he had never had a proper bath? It is so strange to think of the slaves living so different to us when we live under the same roof, is it not?”

Liam doesn’t reply straight away, simply purses his lips. “So you have been spending your days with him drinking wine in bed while I plan this battle then,” he says, voice low.

Louis looks taken aback. “Well, y-yes, but he is remaining here for the duration of our battle and I will not see him for months.”

“That does not give you the right to neglect your duties to me,” Liam hisses. “You keep me awake at night and then you do not help me during the day, Louis, it is frustrating and selfish on your part.”

“I…” Louis starts, mouth opening and then snapping it closed again. “You did not say. If you do not say, then how am I meant to know?”

“Because you are my best friend, my _brother,_ Louis, and yet you disappear on me when I need you the most. Did you not think about that at all?”

“We have had a week of resting,” Louis says. “We have been needed for maybe two hours a day, perhaps less. And you managed to complete the tasks without me, did you not?”

“Yes, but your input is important to me and if you are in charge of a ship then perhaps you should show up and learn something of how to be,” Liam shoots back. “To me, you are being rather selfish.”

“Rather selfish,” Louis echoes, setting his goblet down and wiping his mouth on his arm. “You think I am rather selfish?”

“Yes,” Liam says. “I think you need to focus on the mission and think less about where your next pleasure is coming from. Harry is serving too much of a distraction.”

“A distraction,” Louis echoes again, eyes narrowing. “Yet you would sit across from me and tell me in plain words that if we were on a quest to retrieve Harry back and you got the opportunity to spend the week with Zayn before we began a voyage then you would not take it? Take the last precious moments before you do not get to see him for what could be months on end?”

“Harry is not as important as Zayn,” Liam hisses. “He would not be taken and I would never be put in such a position.”

“How dare you use Harry’s stance against us like that?” Louis snarls, slamming his fist against the table. “How dare you, Liam?”

“It is the truth,” Liam scowls back. “And you are taking this the wrong way! I am not as important as Zayn and neither are you.”

“And what would Zeus think if he heard you arguing using the exact points that he has tried to urge out of you?” Louis says furiously. “I understand, brother, that what you are going through cannot be easy by any stretch of the imagination but do not do this. Do not put your hurt on me with words you don’t believe.”

“And yet you do not make efforts to ease my burden,” Liam says with a glare.

“There is life for me outside of this excursion,” Louis snaps. “I would follow you into Asia Minor and further and yet by the way you are acting I feel like you would not do the same for me. And since we do not have to go to Asia Minor and I have my love next door, I would very much like to return to him before I go without him for a hundred days or more.”

“You doubt our friendship?” Liam croaks as he takes an angry glug of wine. “I have lost my husband and now I am served to lose my best friend and brother on top of this?”

“What is this talk of losing me? I have never needed to doubt our friendship until today,” Louis retorts, crossing his arms. “Yet here you are, speaking ill of Harry when I know it is nothing you believe, and then you are the one to question my loyalty to you?”

“Because you have not shown it this past week!”

“But I have shown it since I met you at sixteen years old!” Louis growls. “I have shown it when we have been in battles and when your father was lost and countless times since. You cannot say I am disloyal, Liam, and it hurts that the thought even crossed your mind.”

“Then help me when I need you to…”

“ _But,”_ Louis cuts him off, “you are not my single loyalty and I thought you would understand that. I understood long ago that you held Zayn higher than you held me in terms of priority. Yet this works two ways, brother.” He shakes his head. “Stop acting as though I must drop everything to do your bidding. I am your brother, not a slave.”

“I need your full dedication for a few more months, that is all,” Liam says. “Your love will definitely wait for you but my love is stuck far from me and…”

“But why should I have to wait for my love when he is next door?” Louis snaps. “I am not a selfish man, Liam, yet you demand so much of me and I need some time for myself, some time with Harry…”

“Harry would not be able to have time with you if I had not allowed it,” Liam snaps, and it’s cruel and he doesn’t know why he says it but he is just so _tired_ and he wants someone else to be hurting as much as he is. “If it hadn’t been for Zayn’s capture and his hands being hurt then perhaps it would have taken you longer to explore your feelings and then perhaps I would have your full dedication.”

Louis looks more dumbfounded and hurt than Liam has ever seen him look. He grabs his goblet from the table and stands. “Why you are being like this, I do not know or understand. I am going to leave you now and go back to spending the remaining time I can with my love, for I’m going to sea with you in two days. Goodnight, Liam.”

 

He stalks out the room and Liam hears the door to his bedroom slam a few moments later. Liam sighs, frustrated and angry with himself and Louis and the whole situation, and he pours himself another cup of wine. He chugs it in little time and then stands from his chair, carrying both his half full jug of wine and his goblet over to his bed and climbing into it with a heavy heart.

Louis’s moans seem to be louder than previous times that night and Liam feels more alone and hornier than he has for a while, which serves to only make him angrier and slightly more bitter. He feels a fool and a failure, letting himself fall into a wine-induced slumber after a rough and fairly unsatisfactory wank.

The next day is long, filled with final plans being made and Liam standing with Paxos to help direct the slaves and foot soldiers who are loading up the ships. Liam gets a look around his quarters, which are spacious and comfortable, though he feels almost guilty when he sees the quarters of his men who will be sharing a space as big as his between twenty of them. He remembers doing it himself during the one sea voyage he has ever been on – he, Niall and Louis had all shared a single blanket and his back had ached for days. It was stifling hot and the smell had been near unbearable by the end, but coming home the victors had been worth it all.

Liam allows his mind to wander for a while as they sit down to eat their midday meal back to when the most important thing in his life was victory and where his next shag was coming from. Even though it never seemed that way, life was so much more innocent back then. Debauchery was for fun and no second thoughts were given to the wellbeing of the whores or the families of the soldiers that he slaughtered and Liam almost cannot believe that of himself.

He even allows himself to think a little further back, to a life without a husband and when he would share his bed with whoever would look in his direction. It was again a simpler time, where Liam had allowed himself to believe in his naivety that he wishes he still possessed. He would not change how his life had gone – being a general was his life ambition for as long as he can remember, his father’s too, and that had allowed him to become wealthy enough to buy the best slaves, the finest foods and of course, allowed him to train well enough to take part in the tournament that earned him Zayn’s hand – he does sometimes yearn to return to a simpler mind set.

However, he cannot allow himself to dwell for too long, for after lunch it is straight on to the armoury, getting new breast plates fitted and his sword sharpened. It’s a little awkward when Louis turns up because he brings Harry with him and from the hurt looks that they both shoot him, it’s clear Louis told him what was said. He wants to apologise but he’s a proud man and Louis ushers Harry out of there before he can. So he sighs and lets Niall chat his ear off about something he doesn’t particularly care about before they head back to Paxos’s palace and sleep it off.

That night he hears raised voices from Louis’s room and he feels almost guilty for whatever argument they’re having that he may have accidentally caused, but he finds that shouting is easier to sleep through than sex and he is exhausted, so he sleeps easily until a slave wakes him just before sunrise.

He takes a long bath – his last warm bath for goodness knows how long – then dresses slowly, servants attaching his new armour to him securely before he’s served his breakfast, also probably the last meal of fresh fruit he will have for a time. He savours it, eats as much as he can stuff himself full of, then heads down to the bay with his small sack of important possessions in hand.

It’s still only early light when he arrives, standing shoulder to shoulder with Hipponax, one of the _taxiarchos_ that will accompany him on his ship as the rest march their bands of men aboard the boats. It really is a sight to behold, especially as he hears the name of his great city cheered from the distance.

Two ships set sail before Niall arrives, looking sleep rumbled but dressed well in his new armour and his weaponry. He gives Liam a fierce, long hug and after some difficult parting words boards the first boat of men, setting sail at the head of the fleet.

It is not long after that when Louis and Harry both turn up, both looking tired with sunken eyes but both clutching bags of possessions, Harry dressed in Louis’s cloak. Before Liam can so much as question what he’s doing here, Louis cuts him off, his voice pleading yet firm.

“We have spoken many heated words on this and he is to come with me,” he says simply. “I sent a messenger down this morning and the correct food and sleeping arrangements have been made. It is done.”

“Louis…”

“Liam, _please,_ ” Louis says, sounding much like he had when he was seventeen and Liam was sixteen and they were living away from home for the first time at the academy, young and terrified. “I do not wish to do this without him, so I shall not. I will see you in fifty days.”

Dumbfounded and suddenly feeling guiltier than he has in days he simply nods, letting Louis go and lead Harry onto his boat with a hand on the small of his back. Liam wills himself to shout after them, to apologise and set aside their hostility but he doesn’t, just watches them go and fights off the pang of jealousy sitting heavy in his lower belly.

Hipponax clears his throat loudly, snapping Liam out of his reverie and then they go onto their own boat, where Liam first deposits his things into his quarters then goes up on deck.

“For Sparta!” he yells to the five hundred men on board, pulling his sword from his belt and throwing it up above his head.

“For Sparta!” the men echo back, copying his gesture and cheering for their great city as the ropes are cut and the ship begins to sail out onto the sea and towards Troy and his husband.

And so it begins.

*

The forty-six days that Liam spends at sea are perhaps the longest of the journey so far.

There is nothing to do but wait the lengthy days out; sleeping a lot of it away, keeping his body fit by lifting weights and then talking amongst his foot soldiers, often staying up until long after dark to drink wine and talk strategy.

It is sweltering hot during the day and close to freezing at night, the impending winter weather approaching. It will not be cold as such but it won’t be easy to camp when they land, so being at sea is perhaps an easier place to be. However, that is not to say it is easy at all because the harsh winds that rip through the sails and nip and pierce at Liam’s forearms and ankles are not easy to handle either.

There are only perhaps two or three days where the storms are terrible and Liam thinks of Zayn with a pang in his heart that he would have _hated_ this; his poor husband as scared of water as he is of heights. He tries to avoid thinking of him, locked or chained or however he was kept and willing himself not to cry as the waves battered the ship like a rock being dropped into a bucket.

He spends a lot of his spare time thinking of Zayn, dreaming of holding him again and kissing the gentle, soft patch of skin behind his ear. He dreams of waking up next to him, to Zayn’s hands gently running across his stubbly check to wake him slowly or because they simply cannot keep their hands off each other. He dreams of a tender kiss being pressed between his eyes before Zayn curls up closer to him under their sheets, tugging Liam’s arm over his slightly smaller body even though it was usually too warm for that.

He dreams of the days they used to spend together - going for walks around Sparta hand in hand, taking him for meals and splurging on presents that Zayn would always argue he didn’t need. Coming home and being surprised by Zayn taking him for a day by the lake or simply spending the day in Zayn’s studio with him, sat on the window seat while Zayn paints or sculpts whatever takes his fancy that day.

He thinks back to their wedding day when he promised in front of Zeus himself and half of his great city that he would love, cherish and protect Zayn until his dying day and how he’s let his god, his love and himself down. He thinks of their first night together, where Zayn gave himself entirely to Liam and Liam took him, more in love than he knew it was possible to be and vulnerable in his own way because he knew he was big and Zayn deserved for it to be safe and painless. He thinks of his first time with Zayn as he wraps a hand around himself, thinks to the first person he ever made love to and tugs himself off to the memory of the tightness, the heat and the love he felt in those single moments.

He also dreams of all the things he wants to do when he and Zayn are reunited – telling Anaxidamus that he won’t be able to attend court so he can simply stay in his chambers with him, holding him close even though that never seems close enough and worshipping his body, kissing every inch of his skin and murmuring words into his ear that he never wants him to forget. He dreams of them making love again, rolling around under the sheets and sliding in and out of each other like there’s no place they’d rather be, marking each other’s skin with bites and scratches.

He dreams of taking Zayn back to the river at home – their favourite place to be together outside of their bed – where he will wrap his arms around Zayn’s slight shoulders, pulling him close against his chest. Where he will tuck his head to the side and nip at Zayn’s pierced earlobe, slide his fingers between Zayn’s own and just feel his presence, take in his smell and relish the softness of his skin and hair on his own.

“You are dreaming again,” Hipponax murmurs, gently nudging his foot against Liam’s calf. They are sat on deck as his mind wanders over his latest daydream, drinking wine and eating stale bread and cheese from their balcony where they can see all their men preparing to sleep. He rubs at his eyes and offers Hipponax a shy smile.

“Apologies, brother,” he says lowly, reaching across to grab his cup of wine from the tray between them. “I was just thinking of home.”

Hipponax nods. “I understand. This is the first time I have ever felt homesick so it is a feeling I am unused to.”

Liam raises his eyebrows. “Have you not fought a battle before?”

“I have, of course,” Hipponax says. “But I am from a nomadic family of origin. I have only been a Spartan citizen for perhaps three years? And normally our excursions last a couple of months at most, yet now we are settled for the first time I begin to miss things such as my home and my mother and sisters.”

“Have you a love back home?” Liam asks curiously. “A wife or a husband?”

Hipponax shakes his head. “I… I had a love once.” He sighs. “I am sure that you are aware that it is becoming less and less safe to be of a nomadic tribe. A lot of my people were taken for slaves, I was told, and I guess that is what happened to my love. I was struck over the head as our caravan was attacked and when I woke…” He lets out another heavy sigh. “Most of the women had been taken, except my mother because she was too old and managed to hide herself and my sisters in a bush. I moved us to Sparta soon after, gained citizenship through joining your army.”

Liam claps him on the shoulder. “My sincerest apologies, brother. I know what it is like to have a love taken from you and I cannot imagine your pain.”

Hipponax nods and shrugs. “It is done; I do not suppose I will see her again but I can remain loyal in making sure you see yours. As you said, the pain is unimaginable and I wish to lift your burden if I can, especially as it was your rank that I joined to keep me and my family safe in your grand city.”

Liam nods. “I am glad you did, you are a skilled fighter and leader. I can see you advancing far.”

Hipponax cracks a smile at that. “Your confidence in me means a lot, my lord. I am glad you picked me to be a _taxiarchos_ on this voyage. I can only hope to continue climbing the ranks.”

Liam nods and then snorts. “Look at us, a couple of sappy fools. Let us drink more wine and talk about soldier things, like blood and how I shall slit Paris’s throat!”

Hipponax laughs, topping up his goblet and Liam accepts the jug as it’s passed to him, glad that even though he misses the companionship of Louis desperately, Niall’s also, he has found a new friend who he can empathise with.

They are at sea forty-five days before their vessel sees land and the sight brings a cheer to the lips of every man on board. Liam allows a laugh to spill from his own as he hugs Hipponax proudly, chanting Sparta’s name on repeat until nightfall.

The ships are no longer sailing in a fleet as they had been – the rough weather that they suffered separated them apart somewhat – but they make the decision to anchor themselves about a mile out as night is falling. They sleep on the boat, the gentle sway of the calm bay waters lulling Liam to sleep better than any night on the open water has. When the sun rises, they sail a little closer to the shore, anchoring themselves for a second time close to Niall’s boat.

“Brother!” Niall yells across from the side of his ship. “Brother, we have made it!”

Liam cackles.  “It is wonderful to see your face, brother. I trust you are glad that we are close to land?”

“The happiest I have been in many days,” Niall calls back. “From what I can see on my side, Louis’s boat has already reached the shore. Shall we sail over and scout a place to camp?”

“Sounds a fine idea,” Liam laughs. “I will be able to hug you in, say, twenty minutes?”

“I bet I smell something awful,” Niall shouts. “But if you wish to I will never turn down a hug from a brother!”

Liam beams, feeling truly happy and giddy for the first time since he began. The feeling of making it across the unfamiliar, unforgiving ocean is one he was not ready for and it is a happiness he did not know he could feel without Zayn by his side. With a bright grin and a loosening to his heavy chest, he calls for the row boats to take them to shore to be lowered, which he climbs into with Hipponax and a number of other men happily.

The feeling does not last long, however, for once they reach the shore and he sees the familiar figure of Harry standing on the very edge of the sand, he realises something is very wrong.

He jumps out into the shallow water, hissing briefly at the cold but hurrying through it to reach his friend’s side. Even from a distance, he can tell from Harry’s stance that something isn’t right and when he gets to him he sees his face is streaked with tears.

“Harry,” he breathes, wiping the cold sweat from his brow. “Harry, what has happened?”

Harry chokes on a sob and when Liam takes him in his arms, all he can feel is him trembling. “There… oh god…”

Liam wraps him up tightly, pressing his shaking body against his own, not caring to maintain any kind of appearance or hard stature when one of his closest friends is sobbing as hard as he is. He presses Harry’s head into his chest and cradles it there and that’s when he sees that the sand around them is stained with blood, which makes his own run cold.

Hipponax and a few other men approach then, gaping as they survey the scene around them. Hipponax gives Liam a brief clap on the shoulder and then hurries onto the beach itself, where Liam now realises with a heavy heart that that’s where several corpses are lying, the water lapping against the sand enough to reach some of their bodies.

“Harry,” he says again, voice hoarse. “Harry, is Louis okay? Is he…?”

Harry shakes his head hurriedly, which eases something in Liam’s chest. He pulls back carefully and cups Harry’s damp face in his hands. Harry takes a deep breath. “H-he is o-over there, s-speaking with the… some of the survivors.”

“Survivors?” Liam echoes. He pulls Harry in once more as he begins to sob again. “Did… Were we seen?”

Harry shakes his head again. “B-bandits, O-Ocleaus reckons. W-we docked last night and s-some men came to the shore to… to scout and I-I g-guess they just fell into an ambush.”

“ _Oipho,_ ” Liam swears. He dabs at Harry’s tears with the edge of his cloak. “How many men do they think were lost, do you know?”

Harry shrugs weakly. “I… I do not know exact numbers, Liam, but there has been so much _blood,_ I…”

“Ssssshhhh,” Liam coaxes, rocking him gently once more as he starts weeping again. “Ssssshhhh, brother, I will…”

“Tartarus’s fire!”

The shout signals Niall’s arrival and he turns himself slightly in time to watch him run a shaky hand through his greasy, flyaway hair and for his mouth to drop open. “Niall…”

“What in the name of Cerberus has happened?” Niall all but screams, pulling his sword from its sheath and waving it in the air. “By the gods, where is Louis?”

“Louis’s fine,” Liam says, arms tightening around Harry as another wail escapes his throat. “Louis’s fine but these were men in his legion…”

“Harry, are you hurt?” Niall says, approaching them carefully and gently touching Harry’s tense shoulder. Harry whimpers but shakes his head, pulling away from Liam to wipe at his eyes.

“I… I am not, I-I stayed the night on the boat w-with Louis and most of the other men.”

“Then why do you cry so?” Niall asks.

“Because look at the loss!” Harry cries, stamping his foot. “So many men and Louis blames himself, I know it! So many lives and I…”

“He has never seen war before, brother,” Liam reminds him gently. “And I cannot imagine Louis is a better shape than this.”

“I have never seen him so angry,” Harry mumbles into Liam’s shoulder. “He… he pushed me away and I… I feel so helpless, Liam. I should not have come, I…”

“Ssssshhhh,” Liam says again, rubbing what he hopes is a calming hand up and down his back. “Let us go and speak with him, come on. He probably needs you right now.”

Harry nods and sniffs several times in quick succession as he wipes his eyes and cheeks on his cloak. With a guiding hand from Liam and Niall following close behind, still spewing out a string of angry expletives, they walk over to where Louis is on the main shore. As they approach, it sounds like he’s screaming at someone, his dagger clutched in one hand and the other balled in a fist.

“So start digging then!” Louis is yelling. “We will bury them as they deserve to be buried; I refuse to allow them to simply rot on a beach as if they are the enemy!”

The soldier he was speaking with nods and scuttles off, calling over to the troops who are gathered on the other side of the beach. Some have clearly been crying but most just seem angry, which makes Liam’s chest tighten in panic.

“Louis?” Harry asks suddenly, carefully. He reaches out a hand to touch Louis’s arm but Louis spins around fast enough that Harry retracts it quickly, his eyes going wide in panic. Louis looks positively thunderous, his eyes sunken and sporting a look of utter defeat.

“Why did you bring him to me?” he says to Harry, eyes narrowing at him angrily. He still hasn’t looked directly at Liam. “Is he here to shout at me more? So I can hear more words about how I am a failure and I just sent one hundred and sixteen men to their deaths?”

“One hundred and sixteen,” Niall repeats, voice rough as he runs a hand through his hair again.

“Yes, one hundred and sixteen,” Louis spits. Liam can see his balled hand tightening as if he’s getting ready to swing and takes a careful step back, Harry still tucked into his side. “So come on, let me have it. I am a terrible brother and a terrible general because I let these men go without paying attention, all because I wanted to spend a final night alone with Harry.” Instead of swinging his fist, however, he uses it to rub at his eyes. “One hundred and sixteen men are dead and it is all my fault.”

“Lou…” Liam says carefully, shaking his head disbelievingly. “Tell us of what happened, Lou, I…”

Louis takes a deep breath and slides his dagger back into his belt. “I… we docked last night and a few of the men suggested that they scout while it was dark so we could be undetected. I agreed and did not think much of it because I was thinking about how it would most likely be our last night in a proper bed for a time so we…” He sighs again and reaches out for Harry’s hand, who takes it gingerly. “I did not think much of it, simply went to sleep in ignorance. Yet I was woken at dawn to shouts and screams and…” He bundles himself into Harry’s side, visibly trembling as he barrels on. “I got to shore and I saw…” He gestures wildly around them with one hand, “ _this._ ”

“ _Oipho,_ ” Niall mutters under his breath. Liam takes a nervous gulp of air.

“You are not to blame,” he says firmly, reaching forward to catch a few of Louis’s stray tears on his thumb. “You could not have known of an ambush and you could not have known there were bandits.” He pauses. “Wait, are we certain they were bandits?”

Louis nods solemnly, pressing a quick kiss onto Harry’s shoulder before he pulls away and walks over to the body of a soldier lying not far from where they’re stood, where he pulls the knife that’s sticking into the back of his neck out. The slick slide of blood and bone against the blade makes Liam cringe and after seeing the look on Harry’s face he is almost tempted to reach for him again. Louis wipes the blade on the soldier’s tunic and then brings it over to them.

“See?” he says, running his finger along it carefully. “Sharpened stone. If this was Trojan then it would be a finer metal and better carved. This is bandits, I am certain.”

“Why would they attack?” Niall asks, taking the blade from Louis and peering at it confusedly. “Did the men have anything on them? Food or weapons? Gold, even?”

Louis shakes his head, taking Harry’s hand again. “They did not take anything from the corpses, just left them. A few men made it back but not many, I…” He sniffs again, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I guess perhaps they panicked? Saw strangers landing on their shores and attacked.”

“That seems the most likely,” Liam reasons. “Whatever happened, their deaths will be mourned and we will give them a proper burial.”

Louis nods, sagging against Harry’s body and Liam does what he should have done forty-nine days ago and pulls his best friend into a tight embrace. Louis sags against him instead and even though no apologies have been exchanged, Liam knows that they will ultimately be okay.

He presses a quick kiss onto the crown of Louis’s head and then releases him, straightening his robes and then calling for the troops to assemble as best they can around the scattered slaughtered bodies.

“Men of Sparta,” he shouts, beckoning the rest of the men who are trudging through the shallows to get to them. “We have been faced with an unrivalled tragedy that should not have happened. We believe that our men were killed by bandits, not the Trojans, so it was an attack that we could not have predicted.” He pulls his sword from his belt. “Today, you have lost one hundred and sixteen brothers and we shall mourn them. Their names and triumphs will be remembered by Sparta.” He holds his sword up. “We shall avenge them if we can, but first we shall give them a proper burial.” A murmur spreads through them in agreement.

“For Sparta!” Niall yells, throwing his own sword towards the sky, running a hand up Louis’s back, who echoes the sentiment in a croak but copies their actions. Four thousand, eight hundred and eighty-four swords are thrown upwards in support and Liam nods as to everyone as he brings his down.

“Our journey onwards can wait a day or so,” he calls. “Let us give our brothers the burial they deserve!”

It shouldn’t be a difficult decision but he makes it with a heavy heart, then spends the day digging and digging so the corpses do not rot in the open sun. By the time the sun has set, the bodies are buried and the slaves have a stew simmering in giant pots scattered around their makeshift campsite.

It’s an uneasy night’s sleep, with men on patrol throughout the night and a sense of dread that rings louder than the crashing waves against the shore. Liam doesn’t sleep until first light and even then he wakes only a few hours later not feeling rested at all.

In the morning, they pack up hurriedly and begin the march forward towards Troy. It’s a scary prospect that they are suddenly so close but the men seem keen to move forward and so is Liam, eager to advance the mission and get closer to his boy.

So busy were they packing up and moving forward quickly that they didn’t take notice of the Trojan outpost less than half a mile from the shore until they pass it and find it empty, which leads them to believe that it is likely that Paris is aware of their arrival.

Liam fears that perhaps their own ambush is over before it even has the chance to begin.

*

Zayn is sharing a reluctant meal in Paris’s personal dining area when the news breaks.

A tentative knock on the door interrupts him picking at his meal of roasted lamb and Paris signals the messenger inside, who bows and then smirks in Zayn’s direction.

“My lord,” he says to Paris. “News has reached us that a legion from Sparta has landed on the shores about a three day walk from here. Maybe five thousand men if the predications are correct, according to the guards at the outpost.”

Paris’s face sets in a tight line. “Five thousand men? Is there word of who leads the party?”

The messenger nods. “Liam of Wolver has been spotted, as has Niall of Mullingar and Louis of York.” Zayn’s heart skips a beat and he has to fight a gasp from leaving his lips. “The spies in that area believe more men are to come, led by Icanorus and Minos, both Spartan generals who sit just below Liam and Louis in the Spartan ranks.”

Paris nods like he’s thinking. “And they are a three day walk from us here?”

“Yes,” the messenger says with another nod. “Also, one of the landing parties arrived early and was attacked by the bandits that reside in the hills around there. Perhaps a hundred lives lost.”

Paris purses his lips. “Not a great loss but they have done us something of a service. Very well. Leave us, I have preparations to make.” The messenger bows again before he disappears out the door. Zayn’s heart is beating hard against his ribcage, unsure of what to do because Paris is stony silent, face set in a tight line of anger. Hesitantly, Zayn opens his mouth to make a smart retort but he’s cut off by Paris growling loudly in frustration, grabbing his dagger from his belt and plunging it into an apple on his plate and cutting it smoothly in two. “ _Oipho.”_

“Did you genuinely not believe Liam would come for me?” Zayn asks smugly, plucking up a cold potato and chewing it slowly. “Did you really think that I…?”

“Shut your mouth,” Paris hisses in a voice that makes Zayn’s mouth snap closed immediately. “Your taunting will do nothing to stop what is coming for you.”

“What, the fact that Liam is coming for me?”

“No, the fact that now I am aware of where Liam is and can have him killed easier,” Paris says, wiping meat juice from across his chin. “For real this time. And I will make sure his cold body hangs in the square that I intend to wed you in.”

“Our wedding is not to happen,” Zayn says, trying for a bored tone but his voice stutters because the butterflies in his stomach are back and beating against his insides with a vengeance. “Liam is close and will slice your throat like a cut of meat.”

“Oh, yes?” Paris says, his angry voice now taking on the tone of amusement. “And how do you fancy that he will get inside the walls of my city?”

“Cleverly and using a method that you would never have thought to,” Zayn says smugly. “So unless you can prepare for a wedding in a week or so then prepare to lose me.” His eyes go wide as he realises what he has said and he claps a hand over his mouth, perhaps foolishly. Paris, however, simply continues to smirk.

“It can be arranged,” he says after a few moments in which he continues to butcher his apple. “However, I fear if I am to do that then certain precautions will need to be carried out before we can even begin to plan.”

Zayn’s eyes narrow. “Precautions? Like what?”

“Like,” Paris says, yawning like he’s bored of this conversation already, “making sure you cannot escape from my house now you know your old love is on my shores.”

“He is not my old love,” Zayn snaps. “He is my current love and my eternal one, how many times must I say this?”

“Too many, for I am bored of hearing it,” Paris says. “However, I do not have trust in your actions.”

“Sounds like the excellent foundation for a marriage,” Zayn mutters sarcastically.

“My love,” Paris sighs, and Zayn hisses as he yanks his hand away from his grasp. “I am sure that we will grow to love each other, yet first we must hold our union in order to show our commitment to each other.”

“I will never agree to it,” Zayn retorts. “You cannot force me to agree to marry you; the words will never leave my lips. Not for all the gold in Greece, not for all the love you believe you can offer me. I only wish for one thing and that one thing is…”

“Yes, we _know,”_ Paris huffs. He raises his eyebrows. “What if I were to offer a compromise?”

“Why do I feel that no compromise will involve me actually getting what I want?”

“It depends how you wish for Liam to die,” Paris says, examining his blade and picking pieces of apple skin off it. “If you agree to marry me and say yes at the ceremony, then his death will be quick and painless and maybe I won’t even force you to look at his corpse.” Zayn bangs his fist against the table. “Or, if you do not, I will make it long, drawn out and loud – perhaps I will even make you watch until you are begging me to stop, to get it over with quickly but I will keep at it until you agree to marry me.”

“You are vile,” Zayn hisses, hands trembling as he presses them together helplessly. “That is the worst compromise you could offer and I would rather die myself than agree to either of those things. You touch Liam and I will kill you myself.”

“And how do you intend to do that from the dungeons?”

“The dungeons?”

“Yes, that is where you shall be residing from now on, I think,” Paris says like he’s simply suggesting that he call the servants in to bring them more food. “I cannot risk you escaping and returning to your ‘true’ love as you call him. That would be such a waste of my gold and my efforts.”

“You are sick in the head,” Zayn shouts. “Mad as bats. Is that all I am? A prize of gold and efforts?”

“Is that not what everyone is?” Paris asks. “You speak true, perhaps we shall never be in love but calling you my husband will make me powerful and rich. I will be blessed and you will want for nothing.”

“I will want _Liam,”_ Zayn yells. “This whole kidnapping is a farce to quell your need for the biggest ego? You are sick and twisted and you will never know love.”

“Perhaps, but I will know power and gold and sex,” Paris retorts. He stands up and crosses over to where Zayn is sat, roughly taking his chin in his hand. “You really think I wish to lie with a man anyway? You are beautiful, that cannot be denied, but you are too tight to push into without preparing you first and it takes too long.”

“Do not touch me,” Zayn yelps, kicking out at Paris’s thigh and pushing him away. “Do not…”

“You will not mind then, if I take whores during our marriage?” Paris continues, cheeks only a little pink with embarrassment. “I do not actually want to share my bed with you. You are a prize and a thing of beauty, but I imagine my view of that beauty would be marred seeing you in the morning.”

“I would rather fling myself off the roof of your house than wake up in your arms,” Zayn hisses. He stands up and tries to move towards the door but there are two guards on him before he can get out, holding him back.

“Guards, take him back to his room and send someone to have a cell prepared in the dungeons for him,” Paris says, sitting back down and waving them aside. “Make sure the cell is decent though, we need to keep the son of Zeus happy.” He says the words son of Zeus as if they are poisonous and Zayn feels sick.

“Your favour with the gods will be lower than ever before,” he growls, straining against the strong hands holding him back. “Get your hands off me!”

“Not likely,” Paris says, picking up the bone of the lamb and ripping meat from it with his teeth. He splutters the next sentence with a mouth full of masticated flesh. “I just cannot be sure if you are to stay, but even with this extra protection you shall be treated well.” He drops the bone to the table and wipes his mouth again. “Oh, and make sure his handmaidens are taken down there too. They are loyal to him now, I think. You could even have your way with them, if it takes your fancy.”

“They have done nothing,” Zayn spits, trying to fight again. “You do not touch them.”

“Make sure he is still able to have baths,” Paris continues, ignoring Zayn’s pleas. “And make sure he is fed well and that he goes in a cell far away from the other scum we keep down there. He is to be treated well, you understand?”

“Treated well in dungeons?” Zayn snarls. He spits on the floor in front of Paris. “I cannot wait for Liam to slit your throat.”

“And I cannot wait to slit his,” Paris says conversationally. “It is something I have dreamed of doing since the academy days. Arrogant little cunt. I could not believe it was him of all people who beat me to my fair prize.”

“Go to hell,” Zayn growls. “Tartarus is the only place I can ever see of being fitting for a cunt like you.”

“I am glad we have come to the understanding that our union will not be one where I am forced to spend my time with you,” Paris sneers. He stands, walking over to take a hold of Zayn’s chin again but this time he’s restrained so he can’t fight back. “Now get out of my sight, I have the demise of your darling husband to plan.” He waves his hand and Zayn is dragged out of there before he can say another word.

He fights back until his shoulders and limbs ache too much to continue then he slumps in the guard’s hold, letting them drag him to his familiar rooms. He’s practically flung inside, where he steadies himself and then turns to glare at the guards, eyes wide.

“You touch my slave girls and I will make it so your lives are miserable for the rest of your days,” he hisses, flicking his hair from his eyes. It’s longer than it’s ever been and he hasn’t even thought about getting it cut since being in Troy. “I mean that. They are my possessions and even if you are to throw me in the dungeons and lock me away then you would be doing a son of Zeus a huge disrespect.”

“Neither of us want your whore bitches,” one of the guards cackles, spitting casually in the direction of Eleanor who is folding robes. She flinches, letting out a small whimper and Zayn growls.

“Get out of here,” he shouts at them. “Allow me a few more hours of privacy before I am locked away and subjected to a life without it!”

Their laughter rings around the room as they leave and Zayn slumps the second the door is slammed shut, collapsing onto one of his sofas and scrubbing his hands across his face.

“M-master?” Eleanor asks questioningly, her tone laced with fear and confusion. “Master, what has happened? Why would those guards want to take us?”

Zayn muffles a moan. “Eleanor, you must forgive me, I did not mean for this to happen to you as well.”

“I do not understand…”

“My husband has landed on Trojan shores,” Zayn says quickly, sitting himself up. “And Paris knows he will fight for me – there is word he comes armed with five thousand men – so Paris intends to lock me away so I cannot flee to him.”

“A-and we are to be locked up as well?” Eleanor asks. Zayn can see tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. “B-but w-we have done nothing.”

“They fear that you are loyal to me and will aid Liam in some way, though I do not understand how,” Zayn sniffs. “I can only offer a thousand apologies, Eleanor. All I can promise is, if you are willing, of course, that when Liam does rescue us then I will bring you to Sparta with me. You and Sophia both; you are too kind and loyal to me to remain under the ownership of someone like Paris. That is, if you feel up to the travel.”

Eleanor uses the back of her hand to wipe her tears and then to wave his comment aside. “I have travelled further, do not worry. I am from a nomadic clan of origin.”

“Yeah?” Zayn says with a nod. “Then it is settled. Where is Sophia?”

Eleanor shakes her head. “Perhaps in the kitchens?”

“A part of me hopes that she stays there so she will not be flung into the dungeons with us,” Zayn hums. “Please forgive me for this, Eleanor.”

Eleanor sniffs. “It is my duty to serve you, is it not?”

“Regardless,” Zayn says, standing up and going over to the table to pour himself a cup of wine. “You have committed no wrong doings. I also have no idea how we will be treated down there, for if I am to marry this man yet he so willingly throws me in the dungeon then I cannot imagine he will be at all kind to anyone else.”

Eleanor shrugs. “I am not important, I…”

“You are more important to me than anyone else in Troy,” Zayn says, slamming his now empty cup back on the table. “And I am a terrible master but I will make it up to you, that I can promise. In Sparta, we treat our slaves well and you will never go hungry or cold.”

Eleanor just nods, bowing her head as she stands and goes towards the doorway to hers and Sophia’s shared bedroom. “Will I be allowed to keep possessions?”

“I imagine I will be so if you have something important then let me hold it for you,” Zayn nods. He pours himself another cup of wine. “Have you much?”

“Just a few things left to me by my mother and sisters,” Eleanor says, producing a necklace and two small books. “And a note from, um, my lover but…”

“Give them to me,” Zayn instructs, holding out his hand. He places them on the table next to his goblet. “I promise you I shall see them safe.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor says, sounding relieved. “Thank you, I…”

They’re interrupted by a shouting and then the protests from a voice Zayn knows well. He tears himself away from Eleanor and hurries to open the door, where the guards have Sophia pressed hard up against the wall beside it by her throat. There are already tears running down her face and Zayn growls as he tries in vain to shove the guard away from her.

“Unhand her this second,” he snarls, trying to push himself between her and the brute. “She is not yours to have; unhand her, I say!”

“She was trying to escape,” the guard says in a bored voice, like he cannot understand why Zayn is reacting as he is. “I am under orders to keep you in this room.”

“She was in the kitchens,” Zayn hisses. “Why would she be returning to my quarters if she was trying to escape? Do you have a brain at all?”

The guard drops Sophia to the floor, coughing and spluttering, and turns to Zayn instead. “You watch your mouth or it will be you that will no longer have a brain.”

Zayn snorts. “An excellent retort. Do you not have other things to be doing, like preparing our new home rather than strangling my handmaiden?”

“I have to make sure you do not escape again,” the guard says, eyes narrowing.

“I am not foolish enough to try and escape,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. He steps back into the safety of his doorway. “Do not disturb us again.” He slams the door behind him and hurries over to where Eleanor has Sophia in a tight embrace on their sofa, hand rubbing up her belly as she gulps for air. “Here, let me fetch you some water.”

He hurries over to the table and pours some water into a fresh cup, which she sips slowly until she can speak again. “T-thank you, master.”

“You have nothing to thank me for, because this was my fault and I am so sorry,” Zayn says, ducking down onto his knees in front of them. “I… I do not know how much time we have but Sophia, do you have any possessions that you wish to keep safe?”

Sophia nods, confused. “Just… just a ring that I keep under my pillow, I…?”

“We are to be moved to the dungeons,” Zayn says quickly, standing up and going back over to the table for another cup of wine. “I am to be married to Paris in maybe a week, if he has anything to say on it but he fears I will escape and because you are loyal to me then you must be locked away too, I am so sorry.”

Sophia turns her face into Eleanor’s shoulder and cries, which makes Zayn almost want to cry himself. Eleanor strokes through her hair and they sit in an awkward silence for a while, until the door is hammered on and it’s demanded that they come out.

“In a moment!” Zayn shouts. “I need to pack a few of my possessions!”

He moves through into his bedroom where he collects some of the books he has accumulated along with his favourite cloak. He checks again that Liam’s bracelet is still on his wrist – even though he has not taken it off since that day – and then empties one of the satchels where we keeps his drawing utensils onto the bed before stuffing the books inside.

“Sophia, please collect your ring,” he instructs, hurrying over to the table and gently scooping all Eleanor’s belongings into it. “And if you both would, I would wear your cloaks or at least bring them with you. I fear it may be cold down there.”

Eleanor lets out a little whimper but follows Sophia, returning with their cloaks wrapped around their shoulders. Sophia hands the ring over to Zayn, who drops it inside his bag and slides it onto his shoulder. He carefully steps in front of the girls again and then opens the door, almost jumping as he sees Paris there himself.

“Just making sure that you didn’t try any funny business,” he says, almost gloatingly. Zayn resists the urge to growl. “Come on, let me personally escort you to your new home.”

“I venture that it will not be much of a home,” Zayn snaps. He tightens his grip on his bag. “Show us the way then.”

The walk down is long, awkward and silent. The entrance to the dungeons is grotty and the change in temperature is obvious immediately as they traipse down the steps into the dark, damp rooms. It smells something awful and there are prisoners staring them down from all sides as they walk through, which makes Zayn’s skin crawl and his eyes prick with tears.

Their cell is right at the end, out of the sight of the other cells and inmates. There is also a small skylight at the very top, allowing a little light in but not enough to let them forget where they are. There are two slim mattresses on the floor and three guards that Zayn doesn’t recognise standing by the door who opens the creaky door as Zayn and the girls approach.

“Make sure the doors are always secured,” Paris instructs as they are shoved inside. “But do make sure that food is sent whenever it is asked for and that the son of Zeus is allowed out to bathe when he wishes. Send his handmaidens with him for that but make sure the room stays guarded.” He smiles towards Zayn, all faux-sweetness that makes his skin crawl. “Is this satisfactory enough?”

“No,” Zayn says dryly. He drops his bag onto his mattress. “Can we have some water sent down immediately please?”

“As you wish,” Paris says, waving his hand before he disappears back around the corner. “I’ll come and check on you tomorrow, my love!”

The sarcasm dripping from his voice is enough for Zayn to growl and shake at the metal bars keeping him in, eliciting a laugh from the guards and quiet but terrified whimpers from the girls. He sighs in defeat and then flops down onto the thin, uncomfortable mattress. He strokes his hand over his bracelet on his wrist and wills himself not to try, feeling helpless and alone despite the fact that the only friends he knows are right beside him and he knows that Liam is closer to him than he’s been in months.

They are given two blankets to sleep under when it gets dark so Zayn takes one and Eleanor and Sophia take the other. It’s cold so they press the mattresses together, curling up around each other as best they can.

It’s freezing cold during the night and Zayn’s mind drifts to his nearby Liam, who he hopes and prays will not fall foul to whatever Paris is upstairs scheming. With a heavy heart, he runs his fingers over the cold bronze of his bracelet and allows himself to pretend for a while that the warm body curled beside him is his Liam, as he hopes it will once again be soon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(


	7. The Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Niall and Harry have an idea, somebody important dies and there's a reunion in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for graphic depictions of violence, lots and lots of blood, vast amounts of historical inaccuracy, major character death/injury and far too much sap for the middle of the Trojan War.

“For the love of Zeus and all his wives, will you stop squirming?”

Liam glares, kicking at Louis’s thigh and making him hiss before he buries himself deeper into his blanket again. It’s freezing cold, the ground is lumpy and a terrible mattress and on top of that, he’s got a whining Louis curled up next to him.

“Fuck off,” he mumbles through chattering teeth. “I cannot get comfortable.”

“None of us in here can get comfortable,” Louis shoots back. He rolls over and tucks his blanket under his chin, staring at Liam. “It is unfortunate but your chattering will do nothing to fix it. Now go to sleep.”

Liam kicks him back, mumbling something about hating it when Louis is right but then closes his eyes, burying himself as deep under his blanket as he can. From his other side, he can hear Niall muttering about how he wishes he’d never come and he’s pretty sure that some of the other foot soldiers that they’re crammed inside this tiny tent with are trying hard not to laugh, but he isn’t sure. In situations as demoralising and so far from what Liam is used to as this, it seems laughing may be the only way to handle it.

Their usual spacing for sleeping in their camps is perhaps between five and ten men to a tent, but since the raid on their camp left so many dead and they find themselves in unexplored and foreign territory, they are only setting up the bare minimum of tents, which unfortunately means nights pressed close together with scratchy blankets and not the usual comforts and privileges that Liam has grown accustomed to as a general. This also means sharing a tent with his best friend, who has spent the best part of the night _purring,_ pressed close to Harry as fingers massage through his scalp. Liam is part annoyed at the distraction, but mostly jealous, so he bites his tongue.

“Alright for some when they have another body curled up beside them for warmth,” he grumbles again. He hears Harry snort and he cracks his eyes open again to see Louis smirking at him.

“You can join us if you want?” he quips, pulling his blanket up so Liam won’t miss the fact that he’s half-hard, his bulge tenting his tunic ever so slightly, presumably a result of Harry’s long fingers and from having Harry’s long body pressed hard against his own for so long. He pulls a face and swats at him, which makes him snort and roll over so he’s now buried in Harry’s embrace. “Go to sleep, general!”

It takes a lot for Liam to sleep that night, too aware of the potential threat outside to fall under peacefully. His back is stiff the next morning and he knows he is cranky, but he’s so close that he can practically taste it, taste Zayn on his lips once more and feel his soft skin under his fingers, so he marches his troops on, eager for the final push to be underway.

Their scouts return to them as they’re packing up their tents to move on and say they’ve located a good place for camping, tucked away inside a large valley that is perhaps just shy of a three mile walk towards Trojan walls. Liam thanks them and then directs his troops towards it, getting them there just past nightfall. Fires are lit and tents are set up while Liam sends a few more scouts out to search the surrounding areas for Trojan scouts and outposts. They return in the morning with somewhat grave news.

“My lord,” one of them calls, bowing as he approaches. “We have found at least three outposts in the area, possibly four. Each is armed with about ten to fifteen men and has at least two scouts who move regularly to and from Troy with news.”

Liam nods, setting down his bowl of gruel and standing up. “Is it an easy journey to Troy?”

The scout nods. “Perhaps three miles, maybe four. An hour and a half at most, the terrain is relatively flat once we are down the path from these hills.”

“Very good,” Liam says approvingly. “Did you get to see the city itself?”

“Aye,” the scout nods. “It is very grand, a tall wall surrounding it. It will be a task to get inside the gates, that is certain.”

Liam blanches because he hasn’t even thought that far ahead. Louis, beside him, clears his throat. “What is the protection like?”

“High watch towers either side of the gate, men posted along the walls as well. Archers, it looks like.”

Liam whistles. “Much protection for a grand city isolated from others by miles.”

“It’s almost as if they know we are coming,” Louis says sardonically, rolling his eyes as Liam sits back down. “We must have been spotted by now, it is surely inevitable.”

“Paris must just be biding his time,” Niall chips in. “Wants you to attack their home where they have the advantage.”

“So we must think of a way to attack their home without them suspecting, to give us the advantage,” Liam muses.

“And how do you propose we do that?” Louis scoffs. “We are ten thousand men, brother. The idea is absurd.”

“Is it?” Harry chips in. His eyes go wide when he realises he has and then busies himself with eating his porridge.

Louis and Liam both stare at him. “What?” Liam says slowly. “Do you have an idea?”

Harry drops his spoon, flushing red down to his neck. “I-I… not me, it was Niall’s…”

Niall raises his eyebrows. “What, the idea of that as a diversion? It wasn’t serious, I do not know if it will work.”

Harry shakes his head. “Niall, have you the parchment with the drawing in your tent still?” Niall nods. “May I borrow it?”

Niall hesitates but then stands up himself, leading Harry towards his tent. Louis and Liam both stare at each other, confused.

“So…” Liam pauses, then shrugs and continues. “Let us ignore those two and work with the idea of a diversion. A diversion that will either distract the guards or tempt the Trojan fools into opening their gates for us straight away, yes?”

“Yes,” Louis agrees.

“We have too many men for a simple distraction to work,” Liam says, somewhat regretfully. “We need something big.”

“How about,” Louis says slowly, thinking it over, “Yes, this could work. How about if we make it look as if we are retreating?”

Liam pauses, confused. “How do you mean?”

There are a few minutes of silence as Louis scrunches up his face in thought. “Okay, hear this out. It may seem drastic and possibly too risky but I believe if we execute it right then it could work.”

“Explain,” Liam coaxes.

“So,” Louis begins, “we make it look as if we are retreating. Perhaps, say, we have realised that there is too much at stake – we have seen the gates of Troy and we are shocked, impressed, awestruck; we realise we cannot win against such a civilisation…” He presses his hand against his forehead and pretends to swoon dramatically, which makes Liam snort. “Anyway, we make it look as if we are departing. Maybe send a few men to make it look as if we are walking back towards the beach. Not many, perhaps a few hundred though; enough for it to seem real.”

Liam nods again, mulling his words over. “So how will we get inside the walls?”

“That comes in a second,” Louis says, holding up his hand. His smile spreads across his face as he becomes surer of his idea and he snaps his fingers towards a slave, who scuttles over. “Fetch me the maps and some parchment from my tent.”

The slave scuttles off and Liam snorts another laugh. “You are that sure of this idea?"

“Fuck off,” Louis says, nudging him in the stomach. “It is an idea, is it not? A starting place in getting your husband back?”

Liam goes a little rigid at that, Louis’s words bringing him back down to earth about how he needs to get this right first time. He can’t fuck this up, he _can’t,_ and he does trust Louis with his life (and Zayn’s) regarding this. So when the slave returns with parchment, maps and some writing granite, Liam listens eagerly as Louis begins to draw out his plan in diagram form, explaining it to Liam as he does so.

“So if some of the men retreat, then it will be sighted from the outposts, yes?” Liam nods in agreement. “And if the scout’s description was correct, then from this peak here we can see Troy but we are too hidden for Troy to see us without the aid of these outposts.” Liam nods again. “So if we make sure that the retreat has been seen then we can be sure that their own scouts will rush back to Troy with the news. Perhaps we even have one man where your red cloak – that will be bright enough for them to tell at least one general is retreating. Once the scouts have left with the news and are a safe distance away, we have men launch a separate attack on each outpost. They will be completely outnumbered and will perhaps only result in one or two casualties if we are lucky.”

“I do like the sound of that,” Liam says with a small smile. Unnecessary death is certainly not what he needs for the morale of the men, especially after their recent knockback.

Louis nods. “Then we have a few men take their place in wait, to first of all kill the returning scout and then act as if they take that position anyway in case Troy sends out extra scouts and gets suspicious of an empty tower. We must think of every eventual outcome that could result in a slip up at this point, I think.”

“I agree,” Liam says. “And then what?”

“We…” Louis flounders, as if a flaw suddenly dawns on him. “We keep watch over Troy until they believe us to be gone and they lessen their men around the outskirts of the city, I suppose,” Louis says after a pause. “I, um, I had not actually gotten this far. But I would say at this point our best plan is an ambush at night, perhaps. There are trees nearby for us to cut battering rams from for the main gates and then…”

“Nah, fuck that,” Niall says loudly, strolling back with Harry in tow. Both men look incredibly proud of themselves. “We have come up with the greatest plan. It will not be easy, I must say, and will take a few days…”

“I am willing to take as long as we need if it is to be successful,” Liam interrupts.

“It will be successful, brother, this is _genius,_ ” Niall beams, winding an arm around Harry’s shoulder and smacking a kiss onto his cheek.

“What is it?” Liam asks tentatively. He is well aware that up until now Niall and Harry haven’t exactly had the easiest of relationships, but right now Niall is gripping Harry’s bicep tightly, a slow grin spreading across his face as Harry finishes whispering whatever it is in his ear. “Out with it, then!”

“I think…” Harry starts, scrunching his brows for a second but then nodding. “I think that Niall and I could have worked out a way to get you and your men into Troy without Paris or any other Trojan knowing. It is risky, but…”

“Yes?” Liam says, snapping his head up. Louis too looks up from the papers and maps sprawled across their feet, brows furrowed in confusion. “What will it require?”

“A lot of wood,” Niall says, plonking himself down on the floor next to them. He grabs a spare piece of parchment and a hunk of granite as Harry too joins them on the floor, plastering himself up against Louis’s back, his dimpled grin wide. “But if we do this correctly, brothers, this could be the greatest idea that Harry and I have ever had in our lives.”

*

Zayn is woken up from his slumber by loud shouts followed by the clanking of a sword handle against the metal bars of his cell. “Up, Zayn, get up!”

He groans as he rolls over, trying to flex his tired hands so he can rub the sleep from his eyes. But there’s suddenly a scream and a hand curls itself in his tunic, yanking him forward. “Paris said awake, oh mighty one,” one of his brutish guards smirks as he pulls him roughly up onto his feet. “He wishes to show you something.”

“Unhand me this instant,” Zayn shouts, yanking his tunic out of the guard’s grasp and taking a clumsy step back against the wall of his cell. “What is the meaning of this? I am still Paris’s consort, why do you treat me as if I am a common prisoner?”

“Yes, get out my consort’s cell, you fool,” Paris snaps, appearing from around the corner and yanking the guard back by the collar of his own tunic and tossing him aside roughly. “I said fetch him, not scare him out of his wits before breakfast.”

“Apologies, m-my lord,” the guard stammers, steadying himself. “I thought I was to fetch him fast and h-he was asleep…”

“Oh, shut up,” Paris demands, shoving him out the way again and storming into the cell. “But yes, Zayn, get dressed quickly. I must show you something.”

“Show me what?” Zayn asks, still confused and dopey with sleep. “I thought I was to remain in this hell hole except for bathing.”

Paris howls with laughter. “Yes, you are correct but there is something I wish you to see.”

Zayn hugs his arms around himself self-consciously. “Is this where you show me you have set up for our wedding in your square?”

Paris smirks at him. “Not yet, but I wish to show you something that will hopefully change your mind about wishing to marry me.”

“I doubt it,” Zayn scoffs. “Leave me then if I am to dress.”

“Very well,” Paris says, though he rolls his eyes as he says it. “You have two minutes.”

Eleanor and Sophia curl closer to one another as Zayn dresses himself reluctantly, sliding his cloak over his shoulders before he clears his throat for the guard’s attention. “I am prepared.”

The guard nods slyly and unlocks the door for him. Zayn exits and gets nudged towards the stairs where Paris and more guards appear to be waiting for him. Paris is using his dagger to scrape from of the dirt out from under his filthy fingernails and when Zayn finally appears he sighs as if it is a great bore. “ _Finally,”_ he crows. “It is almost as if you do not want to see this wondrous sight.”

“Unless this wondrous sight is Liam, I doubt it will interest me much,” Zayn says, also trying for bored but it comes out more as a stutter. “Where are we going?”

“The city watch tower,” Paris says simply. “Hurry, we may miss it if we do not.”

Confused, Zayn follows him down the steps and out of the walls of his home for the first time since he visited his father’s temple. The walk through the streets makes him feel like a caged animal and he _hates_ it, hates the gossip and the pointing and the stares that the townsfolk don’t even make the effort to be subtle with. He wishes he had it in him to run.

They get to the tower after about a fifteen minute walk and once they do, Paris roughly shoves Zayn towards the stairs, pushing him up them forcefully. “I told you we need to hurry,” he hisses. “You might miss your retreating husband otherwise.”

Zayn freezes.

“Take a look,” Paris sneers, grabbing Zayn roughly by the back of the neck and manoeuvring his head in the direction of the sea. “You see him? You see how he flees? My scouts saw him approach the city and then he demanded his men to retreat. No more words other than that.”

“No,” Zayn says dumbly, eyes blinking and unfocused at the clear sight of a red cloak – a Spartan army leader’s wear. “No, no, he would not…”

“He would and he has,” Paris says gleefully. “He has left you here, practically as an easy prize for my taking. I always knew he was a pitiful man. Weak and scared.”

“No,” Zayn says again, louder this time. “No, no, stop, this is a _lie.”_

“Is it?” Paris asks. “Is it when you can see him and I can see him? Can you believe it? The first time you see your _beloved_ husband in near seven months and it is to watch him retreat from you, how sad.”

“Unhand me,” Zayn yells, trying to pull out of his grasp. “Unhand me and let me go! Liam! Liam!”

“He will not hear you, you pitiful soul,” Paris smirks, fingers tightening around him. “You are too far away and it was all too much for _poor Sparta.”_ He pulls Zayn closer to him, close enough for Zayn to feel his rancid hot breath against his cheek. “We are to be married in less than a week now, I think.”

“Never!” Zayn cries uselessly, trying to push Paris away from him. “Never, _never,_ I would sooner die…” His entire body feels numb as he struggles, palms slapping uselessly against Paris’s breast plate. This isn’t happening. This _cannot_ be happening.

Paris’s eyebrows shoot up. “Is that the case? Well, we cannot have that. I guess I shall have to return you to the dungeons where you can be under guard at all times, make sure you are not tempted to do anything of the sort.”

“This whole house is a dungeon,” Zayn spits. “Unhand me and take me back to my cell. I do not wish for this torture anymore.”

“The truth does hurt,” Paris shrugs. “However, at least you are marrying an honest man. I think I have been decent in making my intentions clear from the very start.”

“Shut up,” Zayn snarls. “You are still nothing of the man Liam is.”

Paris scoffs. “You still insist on protecting the man who you just watched abandon you, Zayn? How noble.”

Zayn swallows past the lump in his throat. “If he felt the lives of so many men are more important then so be it. An army on my behalf is a big sacrifice for my city.”

“The city that betrayed you?” Paris goads. Zayn doesn’t say anything else, lest he burst into tears. “I thought so. Back to the dungeons with you.”

He pays no mind to the gossip and the stares and the pointing on the walk back. He pays no mind to anything other than the grief he feels, the pure degradation he has suffered and he wonders if he can break away to speak to his father and understand what has happened. He decides against it though, reluctant to be seen by him in such a state.

The jail cell looks almost welcoming when he returns. He ignores Eleanor and Sophia and begins to cry almost the second the door clicks shut, draping his blanket across his shoulders and bringing his knees up to his chest, humiliation, sorrow and terror running through his veins at the crushing realisation that perhaps his great and loving husband isn’t so great or loving after all.

*

“No offense, Niall, but this may the stupidest idea you have ever had in your life. Harry too.”

“Quiet,” Liam hisses, nearly toppling over as the horse comes to a sudden halt. Louis promptly shuts up, his hand going quickly to his sword even though there isn’t a need at the moment because they’re concealed inside this contraception, this absurd idea of Niall’s that could actually be the difference between Liam holding Zayn in his arms once more or never seeing him again.

They hear the sound of a horn being blown by one of their soldiers and then their makeshift megaphone must be raised because they hear someone shout well above normal volume “Men of Troy! We wish to be known to you.”

There’s a pause and then they can faintly hear something that they can’t make out being shouted back.

“We wish to let it be known that we have decided to retreat,” the soldier calls. “We fear that this is a battle that cannot be won by us and it is not worth risking the lives of close to ten thousand men for the sake of one life. General Liam of Wolver offers his official surrender and his blessing for Paris to wed his Son of Zeus. We shall depart back to Greece in our ships within five moons and we wish to leave you this as a parting gift, an offering to the gods!”

There’s more talk that Liam can’t here (he’s kind of grateful for that, for just hearing the lies that he himself told his soldier to say about Zayn is making his blood boil) and then after a few minutes that feel like lifetimes, he hears the creak of the gates of Troy as they open and then a few minutes after that he nearly topples over again as the wheels of the horse begin to turn as they’re (somewhat unbelievably, Liam thinks) wheeled inside.

It’s a tense time for them all as the horse is presumably manoeuvred through the city. Liam wraps a hand around Louis’s ankle and Louis shifts a little closer, trying to make as little movement as possible in the hope that they aren’t discovered. It’s terrifying, really, because there’s so much riding on this and if they’re discovered now then there is no hope of them getting out of an ambush alive as there’s only thirty or so of them inside, nowhere near enough to fight the Trojan guard unaided.

Somewhat miraculously, even after what feels like an eternity of having hands and swords knock on the wood of their hiding place, muffled voices followed by the shouting voices of those who protested to it being brought inside the city walls, it is steered in front of Zeus’s temple, of all places. The bickering guards who ended up going to fetch Paris himself were eventually instructed to move it there as an offering in the hope that Liam’s departure and abandonment of his so-called love would bring them more favour, which is useful in some respects but not easy words for Liam to hear.

Especially not as he hears Paris shout words about how he always knew Liam was a coward, a fool and a liar, shouting them loud and proud as if he knows Liam can hear them. Louis wraps a hand around his shaking bicep, willing him to calm down, but Liam’s blood is boiling and he would happily jump out and slice Paris’s neck this instant if there wasn’t so much riding on this. So he takes a deep breath, rests his head on Louis’s shoulder and he waits.

By nightfall, the city is near silent and Liam is sweating like he never has before, both from the heavy nerves in his belly and the sweltering heat of the Trojan evening tied with being stuck inside such a small space with so many people. It stinks too, the smell of piss heavy in the air as they realised they had no choice but to use one of the horse’s legs as a makeshift urinal.

So Liam is glad when Hipponax slides the tiny hidden provisional window to one side and peers out, where luckily the horse has been positioned so he has a pretty good view of the crossroads. “General, I think the coast is clear.”

Liam nods, nausea sweeping over him and suddenly so far from ready to conduct an operation this big that he feels sick. He stands up on shaky legs, carefully making his way over the trap door built into the underbelly of the horse and prises it open. “For Zeus and for Sparta, I wish you all the best of luck and the best of results.” The men murmur their agreement, Niall claps Liam on the shoulder and then he drops through, shuffling on his back out of there until he’s out from underneath and finally, _finally_ standing inside the walls of Troy.

He dusts his knees down and surveys the scene around him. The streets are deserted as most are during the night so he takes a chance wander over to stare down one of the long streets, which too is blissfully empty. He puts a hand on his sword hilt regardless and then turns back to the horse, where a few more men have emerged, including Louis.

“How should be play this, brother?” he asks lowly. “How many men do you think you will need to occupy Paris’s house?”

“A few hundred, at least,” Liam murmurs. “I do not know how many guards he has but I can imagine the answer is many. We will open the gates together, I think.”

Louis nods. “Very well.” He turns to his men. “Archers, ready your bows. We are to open the gates first and then once Liam goes into the house of Paris we will see what needs to be done.”

“Where are the Trojan army barracks?” Niall asks. “Perhaps we should aim to strike there directly, take the men down before they have the chance to prepare themselves.”

Liam’s about to agree when an arrow comes from nowhere, skimming across the upper arm one of his soldiers and making him cry out loudly in pained surprise. “We’ve been spotted,” Hipponax hisses, raising his shield above his head as he whips round wildly, trying to see where it’s coming from. “Men down!”

One of the archers fires an arrow towards where the first one came from and then silence reigns through the city, yet that does nothing to quell Liam’s uneasiness. “To the city gates,” he commands, raising his own shield. “Let us get the other men inside before we are taken out.”

It’s risky moving a hidden party as large as theirs through the dusty, complicated streets, especially now they know they’ve been spotted. A few more arrows come in their direction, striking two men down and it’s with a heavy heart that Liam has to tell the rest of his men to _run_. It’s quite a long distance, longer than Liam had reasoned with himself, so by the time they reach them they are six men down and Liam is suffering from a heavy stitch in his belly. As they reach the gates, the archers immediately fire their arrows into the watch towers, making three of the guards tumble to their deaths across the side of the wall.

Arrows are being fired at them from all sides now, a horn sounding somewhere in the distance and so Liam just moves, weaving through the sea of shooting arrows to effectively behead one of the four guards standing directly in front of the city gates as Niall plunges his sword into the belly of another.

He drops his sword to the ground and then starts to wrestle with the heavy gates, turning the wheel that keeps them locked as Niall stays in front of him, slashing at the guards coming from all sides to charge them. “In your own time,” he yells back to him as he yanks his blade out of the neck of an attacker then quickly makes a swift cut through the throat of another.

“I’m trying,” Liam shouts back, spurred on by the fact that he can now hear his men chanting from the outside. His shoulders ache already but he finally gets the lock to click open, then several thousand men are charging through with their bows raised and their swords out, ready for the onslaught of the Trojan army that can be seen appearing around the corner.

With a racing heart and a lump in his throat, he yanks Niall against the wall with him and then screams Louis’s name, who finishes killing a guard and then hurries over, running a bloody hand through his flyaway hair.

“Brother, can you command these troops? If I take Niall and the second wave of men to the house of Paris? Can you?”

Louis nods. “Of course I will. I will do so proudly.” Liam nods and then yanks Louis in for a quick but heartfelt embrace. “Go and get your boy. Be safe, brother.”

“You too,” Liam says as Niall pulls him in too.

“Do not be sappy,” Louis chastises him, yanking his sword out of his sheath again. “Now go and let me fight!”

He disappears off into the throng with a bellow and Liam doesn’t stop to think before he charges forward, Niall following. “Icanorus!” he screeches, gesturing his man over. “Icanorus, send your men to follow Niall and I!”

He isn’t sure if he was heard over the clanking of metal on metal and the shouts and cries of men from all around but as he charges, men start to follow. Liam aims to shepherd them away from following the city walls because it’s from those that the brunt of the arrow fire is coming from, charging down one street and then coming to a huge square with several forks in the roads. Niall skids to a halt beside him, hair sticking out in all directions behind his raised shield.

“Is Paris’s house the one across from the giant fountain?” he pants, pointing awkwardly to one of the adjacent roads while ducking to cover himself from the downpour of arrows. “If so, then we are only two streets away, I believe.”

“Then let us move!” Liam urges, cringing as a foot soldier beside him is struck dead by an arrow to the back of the neck, unable to shield himself in time. The rumbling sound of so many men running in the same direction is all that fills his ears and he doesn’t want them to stop, so with that in mind he points to the wider of the two forks and then charges down it, Niall following behind.

Liam is nearly out of breath by the time he reaches the fountain but he can barely stop to catch it as another storm of arrows is fired at them from the high walls protecting Paris’s house. He immediately raises his shield again but that doesn’t stop Niall, who raises his sword and charges forward through the fire. Liam shouts after him because he isn’t at all sure how many men Paris will have inside his gates protecting them but then he notes it cannot be more than the two thousand men hot on his heels so he follows, slashing the neck of two guards in quick succession as he goes.

A battering ram is following up the troops towards the back and Liam vaguely hears Icanorus shouting behind him to speed the process along but he drowns it out as he focuses on slaughtering the foot soldiers now charging them from two different sides, clearly sent from the Trojan barracks. It’s not easy because all of a sudden there are _so many_ other men there and clearly aiming for Niall and himself. He’s strong through and his men are well trained so he’s able to fight well for the most part.

But suddenly there’s a weight on his back and an unimaginable pain searing through his cheek. He cries out, trying to fling the soldier from his back but there’s a blade against his throat and there’s blood trickling down his neck and shoulders and this is it, he’s going to die like this and he’s never going to be able to see his love again when…

The weight goes dead against him and all Liam can hear is choking. A shiver runs down him as the body is yanked away from him and he catches himself just in time to stab another charging foot soldier in the gut before he’s able to spin and thank Hipponax, who’s kicking at the corpse to try and get his lifeless body off the sword.

“Thanks!” Liam yells and then lunges behind him, his own sword clashing loudly against that of an attacker before another one of his men is able to get him from behind.

“Any time!” Hipponax yells back almost brightly even in spite of how his face is covered with blood. “ _Oipho,_ Liam, behind you!”

Liam elbows whoever Hipponax was warning him against in the stomach and then smacks the handle of his sword into the back of their neck, effectively knocking them out. He then turns back to the gates, where the battering ram is close to finally breaking the door down. He shouts this to Hipponax, who clumsily flicks his damp, red hand to get the excess blood off and then follows him to the door, where Liam is prepared to be the first inside.

“Niall, you are to come with me!” he shouts across to his friend. “Hipponax, Icanorus, can I put my faith in you?”

“Without a doubt, Liam!” Hipponax promises. “How many men will you take?”

Liam surveys the scene. “Not too many. Send as many as you as you think I can take stealthily after me?”

Hipponax nods and clasps his hand. “May the gods be on your side.”

“I should hope so,” Liam shouts back over the noise of the wood of the gate finally cracking open. “On with it, men!”

Niall wraps a hand around Liam’s wrist before he can charge. “Wait, Liam, do not charge in yet.”

“Why?” Liam asks incredulously, trying to pull himself from the grasp. “That is why I am here, Niall, unhand me!”

Niall rolls his eyes. “They will be looking for you amongst the men, brother, and will single you out for arrow fire. Wait until the men have breached the walls and then we can sneak through.”

Liam glares but nods after a moment’s hesitation. “Very well,” he says reluctantly. “But what are we meant to do? Just stand here like fools?”

“No, of course not,” Niall snaps. He manoeuvres Liam carefully through the throng of charging men. “You see that door?” he shouts, pointing across the courtyard. “It is unguarded and possibly our way in. We must fight our way across to it.”

Liam is still confused but he nods hurriedly, letting Niall shove him into the courtyard where he immediately plunges his sword into the belly of a charging, clearly untrained guard. He pulls it out just in time because then Niall is grabbing him again, yanking him towards the wall.

“If we keep ourselves up against this wall, we will remain unseen by the guards above us and we are too far across for the arrows from the other wall to reach us,” Niall explains, though he then counters his first point straight away as he darts forward and stabs a Trojan in the back. “What?” he says as he flings himself back against the wall to dodge an arrow.

“Listen to your own advice,” Liam shouts at him and it should be angry but it’s unbearably fond and he almost wants to reach for Niall’s hand. He’s supposed to be a general, leading his people to victory and success but instead he’s pressed up against a wall, shuffling along to try and keep himself hidden. He feels like a bloody coward as he watches his men fight – at least for now they’re fairly even matched and he can see more and more of his men coming through the broken gates. This is battle, and he knows it well, but he doesn’t want it continue – he wants to take Zayn back and then take his men back with him.

(He knows that is not like most generals would be or would think to act but he just wants to take Zayn and return to Sparta. He may be a general, but he likes it much more when his city is at peace.)

It takes such a long time to get to the door, what with them being forced to take baby steps while simultaneously striking down the attacks launched at them from all sides. Hipponax, who seemed to spot them pretty early on, has done a pretty good job of keeping enough men over on that side to protect them but soon they’re going to have to make a dash for it across to the door and Liam’s heart is thumping hard against his armour, his hands sweating and struggling to keep a decent grip on his shield.

“Are you ready?” Niall asks lowly when they’re as close as they can be. Liam shakes his head and laughs awkwardly. “Tough shit, I’m afraid, brother. Run!”

Liam stumbles but runs, turning his back to the door so he can hold his shield in front of his face and chest. Niall mirrors him, nearly falling down as an arrow strikes the centre of his shield with force. “You okay?” he shouts and Niall grunts an affirmation in response before kicking back, which pushes the door open. With one final look at the dark, bloody battle scene happening around them, they sneak inside.

“Wait there a moment,” Niall instructs, grip tightening on his sword as he darts forward to peer around the corner of the chamber they’ve found themselves in. “The coast looks clear,” he mutters to Liam. “Shall we call for some men to follow us?”

“Have we enough inside these gates?”

“Liam, if we don’t get them up onto the tower then more will just die in the arrow fire,” Niall says. “We do not really have a choice.”

“Then yes, shout,” Liam says. He carefully sets his shield down and wipes his sweaty hands as best he can on his tunic. “If they are on the walls and are striking the archers then you and I can corner some of the guards and find out where Zayn is being kept.”

Niall nods quickly and then sets his own weapons down before placing his grubby fingers in his mouth and sounding out a loud whistle. “After us, men! Inside and upwards!”

He barely has time to pick his sword and shield back up before there are men pouring into the building. Panicked that they don’t know what they’re to do, Liam grabs out for the sleeve of another _taxiarchos._

“Peithon,” he says loudly. “If you can get to the towers and strike down the archers from the walls then that will aid us greatly.”

“Yes, general,” Peithon says and then disappears hurriedly after his men, shouting orders as he goes. He nods over to Niall, who nods back and then follows him through the throng of men, but instead of turning left towards the stairs for the towers they turn right, moving quickly and easily cutting the throats of the two guards who stand between them and the main corridor.

“What the fuck do we do now, Liam?” Niall hisses as they press their backs against the wall hurriedly as another gaggle of guards jog past their hiding place. “Where on earth would he be keeping Zayn?”

“Cerberus knows,” Liam mutters back. “Zeus said he was being treated well so perhaps look for a corridor of bed chambers?”

“Alright,” Niall agrees. He goes to wipe his sword of blood on the dead guard’s robes but then he looks up at Liam, his face in a grin. “I have an idea, Liam.”

“What?” Liam says. His mouth drops open as Niall begins to take off his armour. “Brother, have you lost your mind?”

“No, listen,” Niall says proudly. “If we dress as Trojan guards, we are less likely to be suspected, is that not the case?”

A wide grin slowly creeps across Liam’s face. “That is _brilliant,_ brother.” He whips his head around violently as the sound of footsteps grow louder once more. “Quick, inside this room here!”

They pick up the legs of the guards and drag their dead bodies inside quickly, closing the door behind them as quietly as they can. The room is warm and muggy and smells of bathing oils and Liam’s whole body tenses up as he hears a scream from behind them.

Niall immediately goes to his sword and spins around wildly, hurriedly pressing the slave girl up against the far wall with a blade against her throat. Liam forces himself to fight the urge to tell him to stop because he knows they cannot be seen, no matter what the price of that may be, when the girl cries out “please, please, if you are Spartans…”

“Yes, we are Spartans,” Niall says cruelly, pressing the blade a little firmer against the long column of her neck. “And we cannot have ourselves be known, even by bath maidens.”

“No, wait, please,” she stammers, tears leaking down her face. “I am… I am Zayn’s bath maiden, I swear it.”

Liam freezes. Niall’s eyes narrow.

“And how can we believe you in this claim?”

The girl splutters something but Liam steps forward then, placing a gentle hand on Niall’s shoulder. “Wait and let her speak,” he says, a desperate edge to his voice. “If she speaks the truth then we may be able to find Zayn faster.”

“I swear it,” the girl says again, taking several deep breaths and clutching at her chest as Niall unhands her. “Are you fighting for Liam of Wolver, Zayn’s husband?”

“I am Liam of Wolver,” Liam rasps. The girl’s eyes go wide. “Please, we will spare your life if you tell us how to find him.”

Sophia shakes her head. “I swear to you I am his handmaiden. I… I can prove it.”

“How?” Niall asks, his voice dangerous and low.

“Zayn has told me much of his life back in Sparta,” she says frantically. “I know he wears the earrings that you had brought back from Thebes for him in his lobes. I know that he prefers his baths to smell of lavender and eucalyptus. I know that his favourite meal is chicken and I know that he prefers to sleep on the left side of a bed. I know that he was given a bracelet by Paris that he tried to pass as proof of your death after he had one of his soldiers take it from your unconscious body.”

Liam swallows thickly, dumbfounded. He lifts his wrist up, where the outline of his long-worn bangle still stands out starkly against the rest of his tan skin. “You speak words of truth,” he affirms. “What is your name, if you please?”

“Sophia,” comes the quiet reply.

“And where is he now, Sophia?”

“He… he is currently being kept in the dungeons.” She flinches as Liam growls but she wipes her tears and barrels on. “I… my job is to prepare his baths but the attack… it happened so fast so I wished to hide out here. The guards instructed me to wait anyway – I suppose that Paris instructed them to keep Zayn locked away but I do not know for certain.”

“Why is he in the dungeons?” Liam snarls. “I was told by Zeus that he had a fine room and a fine bed.”

Sophia nods. “He… he did but once word reached that you had landed on the shores then he was locked away in case he tried to escape.”

Liam has to use all of his self-control not to choke out an angry sob. “Is he okay?”

Sophia nods again. “He is healthy, if that is what you mean. He is fed well and obviously allowed to bathe. He prefers me to draw him a bath late at night; it says it helps him with his thinking.”

Liam nods because he _knows._ “So those two guards there,” he says, pointing across the room, “Are they two of his?”

“Yes,” Sophia tells him. “They were the main ones but there are still four more guarding the entrance to his cell.”

Niall scoffs. “Easy enough, especially if we disguise ourselves. Is it easy to get to?”

Sophia thinks for a moment. “Perhaps, but will your men not attack anyone in Trojan uniform?”

“That is a fair point,” Niall hums. “What is the route?”

“Out of this corridor and then across to the next, then down two sets of stairs,” Sophia says.

“If we hear footsteps then we remove our helmets,” Liam muses. “Best to kill anyone in this house who could halt our quest, whether it be a slave or a guard.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Niall agrees. “Sophia, will you help me remove my armour?”

She nods and hurries forward to assist in the removal of the breastplate, while Liam goes over to the two dead bodies and starts to peel them of their robes. Once he’s dressed himself in those belonging to the taller of the two, he carefully puts the heavy helmet onto his head.

“What of our swords?”

“We keep them,” Niall says straight away. “I do not care if guards here carry spears, we are Spartans and we need our own weaponry for this.”

Liam hums in agreement and then picks up his shield. It’s battered from the arrow fire but he has faith in it protecting him. _This is it_ , he thinks. _There are only two corridors and some stairs separating me from my husband._ “Ready?” he asks in a shaky voice.

“I am,” Niall says. “Sophia, how can we make this look as real as possible?”

“I… well, I am always escorted by Zayn’s guards to and from drawing his bath,” she says with a small shrug. “If you just keep your heads low and your swords hidden then I am not sure that the slaves or even some of the stupider guards will think anything odd of this. It is no secret in this house how much Paris wants to keep Zayn locked away and separate.”

“Very well,” Niall affirms. “Brother, are you ready?”

“I need us to go now,” Liam says, his voice threatening to crack. There are butterflies of nerves thumping in his belly and he feels sick with how much he wants to hold Zayn in his arms. It’s been so, _so long._ “Come.”

Sophia goes first, opening the door and gesturing them out. They stay close to her as they walk, heads bowed, through the empty corridor and then into the second one. “This one holds Paris’s chambers,” she says lowly. Liam bites back a snarl.

They manage past it without any issue and then they reach the top of a set of stairs. “This is your post,” Sophia tells them. “There are two more standing at the bottom and then two more directly guarding his cell. The strongest of those is the one who stands to the left outside his cell, but he has an injured knee so I wonder if you can use that to your advantage somehow. Also the keys are held by the guard at the bottom there, also on the left.”

“Any of their lives worth sparing?” Niall says with a cheeky grin. Sophia shudders.

“Absolutely not,” she says firmly as she shakes her head. “All scum. If Zayn had not yelled that if they touched us it would be a great disrespect then they would have had their way with me and Eleanor by now, and not kindly.”

“Eleanor?”

“The other handmaiden,” Sophia explains. “She remains locked up with him.”

“Why did they lock you both up?” Liam asks.

“Because our loyalties lie with Zayn rather than Paris,” Sophia shrugs. “He is the kindest master I have ever known.”

“I must get to him,” Liam croaks, heart swelling with longing and pride at her words. He pauses for a second. “Niall, you take the left side, get the keys and then I will kill the other two easily so we can fight the brutish one together, does this plan sound fair to you?”

“Agreed,” Niall says. He clasps him on the shoulder firmly. “Let us do this. Sophia, you remain here and follow us down when I shout. But stay out of sight, mind.”

She nods and then Liam and Niall begin to tiptoe down the stairs, knowing that their strengths lie greatly in the fact that the element of surprise is on their side. Liam holds his breath the whole way down and when he reaches the second to last step, he can see his victim clearly, his back turned from the entrance way.

He shoots Niall a look, who presses his lips together and nods in response, and then strikes.

He jumps from the steps, his sword in hand, and then plunges it straight into the guard’s heart. There’s a choking sound and the guard’s eyes go wide, shocked and terrified, as Liam pulls the sword out slowly. The body drops to the floor, convulsing, and Liam moves quickly to silence the already shouting second guard, slitting his throat in two swift slices.

It’s only then he dares to look inside the cell and that’s when he sees his Zayn - his love, his husband - sat on a thin, damp mattress and wrapped up in blankets. Their eyes meet for a second and he watches Zayn’s own go wide, his mouth go slack and his hands come to cover it, like he can’t quite believe what’s happening. Liam kind of wants to be sick because he feels like his heart could burst and his body shut down with how much he wants to touch, kiss, hold, never let go…

“Liam, watch out!”

In his haze, he foolishly let himself forget about the fourth guard, this biggest of them all. A spear comes down towards his shoulder and he forces himself to drop to the cold, hard floor to dodge, rolling away at the last second as the metal blade clashes harshly with the stone. Pain explodes through his shoulder but he tries to ignore it in favour of yanking out his own sword but his arm feels too heavy. He can vaguely hear his name being screamed from somewhere but all he can do in that moment is kick out weakly, trying to get the brute away.

With a stroke of luck, his boot connects harshly with what must have been the guard’s weak knee, because he lets out a cry of pain and then stumbles forward, close enough for Niall to shove his own sword through his belly. He draws it out slowly and Liam watches as blood spills from his mouth, his eyelids fluttering up and down. He shoves his shoulder back in a useless attempt to fix it and then reaches for his own sword again, shoving it deep into his chest.

The guard stumbles backwards against the wall and slumps down it, leaving a trail of red in his midst. Liam pays it no mind though because he’s too busy scrabbling to his feet, hurrying over to where Zayn is clinging to the bars and chanting his name like a mantra.

“Liam, Liam, Liam, you came for me, Liam,” he hears and he’s there, he’s touching Zayn’s hands and he’s lost his ability to speak; he needs the fucking _keys…_

He’s vaguely aware of Niall shoving past him, fitting the key into the door’s lock and then it’s being pushed open and Zayn is there in front of him, no barriers or walls or bars separating them. He looks at him for a split second, managing to croak a weak _“agapi mou”_ and then Zayn’s launching himself into his arms, wrapping one of his arms around Liam’s head and holding it to his chest while the other winds around his shoulders, anchoring him in place. He wraps his own around Zayn’s back and holds him there, daring to let out a web sob and seven months of emotion into his shoulder. “My love, my love, my Zayn…”

He hears Zayn chuckle wetly, his almost impossible grip seeming to tighten even more as Zayn mumbles things into his neck – “Liam, Liam, _psihi mou,_ you came for me, you came for me, I thought you had left me…”

Liam hears himself squeak at that, pulling back a little so he can cup Zayn’s cheeks in his hands. “Of course I came for you; of course, I would have left that morning if I could have. I would rather have died than left you, my love.”

“I care not, I care not,” Zayn chants, thumbing away one of Liam’s tears gently. “You are here and you are safe and alive and… oh, my love, I feared _so much…”_

“You are okay, though?” Liam says shakily, daring to carefully look him up and down. “You are not weak, or… or hurt…”

Zayn shakes his head. “I am fine. I could do with a sleep where I am not in this dungeon but I am well.”

Liam nods and then pulls him close to him again, burying his nose into Zayn’s neck and inhaling. “You smell awful.”

“So do you,” Zayn giggles, though it’s accompanied by a sniffle. “But I would not have you another way now I have you again.”

Liam lets out an awkward half-chuckle, half-sob and clutches him tighter, if that’s even possible at this point. He feels the same as he always has, warm and soft with curves that Liam’s hands fit into exactly like they were meant to fit there. He only looks a little thinner, his hair is longer and he does smell damp and unwashed but Liam couldn’t give any less of a shit (he probably smells worse but again he cannot bring himself to pay that any mind). He feels complete for the first time in so long, like someone lost in the desert without water finding an oasis and he thinks he could happily stay here with Zayn’s body pressed against his forever, if Zayn let him. 

Unfortunately, they’re forced out their reverie by a shout and the now familiar clank of metal on metal. They both turn around wildly, Liam’s hands still fisted in Zayn’s tunic, as they watch Niall take down two more guards – one with a slash to the throat and another by shoving his shield up _hard_ against the underside of his chin. Both bodies crash to the floor and Zayn twitches against his chest, which makes him feel a little bit sick.

“Hi, Niall,” Zayn croaks, hands still clinging to the back of Liam’s robes but he unclasps one to shoot him a quick, shaky wave.

“Good to see you too, Zayn,” Niall says breezily; far too breezily for someone who just killed two men like it was nothing, Liam thinks to himself. “We should run before they send more men down here, yes?”

Liam nods. He turns back to Zayn and cups his face in his hands again, mainly because he never wants to stop touching him. “Have you many things?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Just… I have a satchel of possessions in the cell. And of course the two girls here.”

Liam nods, turning to where Sophia and another girl he doesn’t recognise are standing. “They’re coming back to Sparta?”

“Yes, I am not leaving them,” Zayn says. “Are you two willing to run?” Sophia whimpers a little but nods. “Eleanor?”

“I… yes,” she says breathlessly after a pause. “I would rather be struck down by an arrow than stay here without you, Master.”

“That will not happen…”

“Getting out of here will not be easy, that is certain,” Niall says, peering up around the stairwell. “Another set of guards approaches. I say we duck out after this.”

“How will we get through the house without being spotted though?” Zayn questions. “I am going to be the one they seek and it would not surprise me if Paris has already sent more guards down here.”

“Well, we wear the armour of a Trojan guard,” Liam shrugs. “Perhaps we can make it look as if Paris has instructed us to escort you and the handmaidens somewhere.”

“We will just have to try,” Niall says, hand going back to his sword as footsteps approach again. “Liam, grab your weapon.”

Liam does but then the footsteps pass, for which Liam is so grateful. He turns back to Zayn, who is placing the bag of possessions over his shoulder and he smiles gently, still a little disbelieving that he’s here and Zayn is his again.

“My love,” he says quietly, reaching forward to hold him again. “Can you run?”

Zayn’s eyes go wide. “I… I suppose. Why?”

“The attack covers a lot of the city,” Liam says, stroking his cheek. “We may need to move fast and we may need you and the girls to break off from us. I… I may be needed in the fight.”

Zayn looks forlorn. “Have many people been slain?”

Liam shrugs. “I honestly do not know. But once we leave then I wish to call back the attack. I do not see the need to continue it now I have what I came for. The boats are perhaps a three day walk so we can get there and then sail for allied land.”

“This is so much,” Zayn says sadly. “I do not like the idea that men are dying for me.”

“Too late for that,” Niall says impatiently. “Come, let us go _now._ The sooner we get out of here then the sooner men can stop dying.”

“Okay, let us move,” Zayn says. “Eleanor, Sophia, are you prepared?”

Eleanor slides her hand into a whimpering Sophia’s. “As prepared as we will ever be, I believe.”

Zayn nods. “Then let us move.” He reluctantly drops Liam’s hand but Liam presses a quick kiss to his forehead, which makes them both smile despite everything around them.

Niall pulls his sword from its sheath again, as does Liam, and they begin to creep up the stairs with them raised slightly, predicting an ambush. “The coast is clear,” Niall hisses after a few moments of inspecting the surrounding area. “Sophia, which way will be safer?”

“Ummm, l-left,” Sophia stammers, wiping her terrified tears on her cloak. “L-left and then back towards where we came from.”

“Even if we pass Paris’s bedchambers that way?” Zayn asks worriedly. Sophia pauses but then speaks.

“Master, if you please, I doubt he will be in his chambers,” she says slowly. “He will be fighting or in his studies, I wager.”

Zayn nods. “Good point, I had not thought. Then yes, that way is probably the safest.”

Liam nods and then allows his hand to take Zayn’s again, loathed to stop touching him even if it is not the safest thing to do. “Let us move.”

The five of them patter slowly up the stairs and then make a left, back through the corridor that they took on the way there. Liam’s hand is sweating in Zayn’s as he tugs him along gently, head whipping from side to side with every step because he’d sooner die himself than let anyone so much as _touch_ Zayn anymore.

The shouts of men, the clanking of metal on metal and the smell of blood is ripe all around them, prominent and terrifying. It’s difficult to hear what Niall is saying over the screams and thuds but they manage to get out of the main corridor and down into a smaller one unscathed, back down towards the door that they came in through.

All the while, Liam clutches tightly at Zayn, using every ounce of self-control that he has not to just stare at the face he hasn’t seen in so long. He wants nothing more than to just _run,_ to get them out of there and to safety and to block out the battle being fought around them, but he is a general and he must think of his men, no matter how hard that seems. He _hates_ this – hates seeing his love so scared, hates seeing these two innocent girls who shouldn’t be here flinching at the ugly crashes of swords against each other, hate even being here when they could still be in Sparta if he had not snuck out from his bed.

They approach the stone steps that they used to find their way into the building when they’re halted by a shout. “What in Hades’ name?!”

Liam feels Zayn freeze and he in turn comes to a halt as well. The shouting continues.

“Who on Gaia’s earth gave you the order to take the son of Zeus _anywhere?_ The order comes from me or… _”_

Liam turns to stare at Paris and Paris freezes up, his mouth closing and his arms folding across his chest. “Well, well, well,” he says slowly, dangerously. “Liam of Wolver.”

“Paris,” Liam says coldly. His hand tightens in Zayn’s. “We meet again.”

“So we do,” Paris says. He’s dressed in fine armour with a silk cloak billowing down his back. _More gold than sense_ , Liam thinks. “Your men are destroying my city in the name of one man, Liam; I hope you can take pride in this.”

“It has much more to it than that and you know it,” Liam says, pulling Zayn closer to him as two brutish guards appear at Paris’s sides, jaws set and spears in their hands. “This battle is of honour, of integrity.”

Paris snorts an ugly laugh. “You could not let me have the honour of finally having the most beautiful husband in the land, you needed it for yourself, is that it?”

“It has nothing to do with beauty,” Liam spits. “You stole the one I love the most from our bed, from our home hundreds of miles from your own, no less. You are the one who tried to kill me because you were scared of what I would do in order to get my husband back. So yes, this is about honour but the honour of myself and my city, and my husband too. You have done him and his father a huge dishonour.”

“Yet in doing so you are willing to let your soldiers slaughter through a city of innocents, killing men and women in their beds and taking fathers from sons as your murder my soldiers. You burn our crops so even the innocents have no food and you expect me to think you do this with good honour in mind?”

“It does not please me to have to do these things,” Liam argues. “However, perhaps I would hold more remorse for the actions of my men if I believed that you cared a little for their lives. You speak of honour, but really the only honour you care about preserving is your own. You are bitter that you could not have the most beautiful man in the world and that angers you more than the death of any civilians of your city. You are a disgusting man.”

Paris looks almost amused. “I am sorry you believe such claims. Yet you are right, my honour is at stake and unfortunately for you I cannot let you leave my city with your husband. The preparations have been made for our wedding and I intend to see them through.”

“I would sooner Liam ran me through with his own sword than marry you,” Zayn snaps from where he’s tucked into Liam’s side, an arm around his waist defensively. “I would sooner die here with my love than spend any more time with you than I have already. Who gives a fuck about honour now?”

“If you let us go then we will call the battle off,” Liam says sharply. “No more men need to die; I have what I came for. Your city will be preserved and no more lives of innocents will be lost.”

“Then clearly you have no understanding of honour,” Paris crows. “I would happily see my half my city burn if it means I get to finally kill you like I have been dreaming of all these years. At least then in terms of honour I will still have mine. That I am not the weak one because I claimed my rightful prize.”

“You think people will still care about your wedding to Zayn if half of Troy has fallen?” Liam cries.

“We are stronger than to let you kill half of us, I was speaking as if you had that power,” Paris says, rolling his eyes. “We are a strong city with strong soldiers. Your only advantage lies in how you took us by surprise.”

“Do half your worries on honour arise because we managed to sneak in undetected?” Niall scoffs. “That we breeched your _strong_ city without any troubles?”

“Any troubles?” Paris says dryly. “Your troubles will come in the form of my men slaughtering all yours. I will take great pleasure in killing you all, especially that little cunt Louis of York. I would take so much pleasure in making you watch as I cut him open slowly, pulling his organs out while he still breathes and begs for mercy…”

“You are sick,” Niall shouts and Liam can’t help but gulp at his words, terrified and confused.

“What have I ever done to make you hate us so?” he asks. Zayn’s grip around him tightens. “You hated me at the academy and you hate me enough to pluck my husband from my house, yet you never gave me any indication as to why! I have never set out to hurt you maliciously – only now, when you disrespect me directly. What have I done to you?”

Paris lets out a hysterical laughter that almost makes Liam jump it’s so abrupt and loud, almost cruel. “This…” he says, waving his hand in their direction. “This is exactly what you do wrong, Liam of Wolver. Even when we were boys and we knew we were to be generals, you were still too cocky for your own good.” At that, Zayn lets out a startled laugh and Paris’s eyes flash with anger, but he continues. “In the academy you were so up yourself. You and Niall and that fucking Louis cunt…” He snorts again. “I possibly hated Louis more than I hated you back then because there was a time when you could have been a decent person but I feel Louis led you astray.”

“But to what ends?” Liam says, shaking his head wildly. “Have I ever caused you a personal offence as great as the one you have caused me?”

“Your whole time with me at the academy was a personal offence,” Paris scoffs. “Liam of Wolver, the one that the tutors doted on, the one that made all the friends, the one who fucked everyone because they all wanted him. You had no idea about anything but everyone loved you! How did you do it?”

“I…” Liam opens his mouth and then closes it again. “That was not an offence to you…”

“You were always set to go further and for no reason!” Paris shouts. “Your father was a nobody, your mother also of no standing. Yet here you are, one of the most powerful men in Sparta – in Greece, even – with the son of Zeus that all of our lands converted as your lover and the world throwing themselves at your feet. I was rich and popular before the academy, yet I turn up there expecting the same and you stole it from me! And then you took my chance for further honour by stealing the man I should have married and now… I cannot live happily knowing you are happy when you do not deserve it.”

“What makes you think I do not deserve this?” Liam yells back. “I have worked hard for what I have, for the friends that I keep! Louis and Niall are the loyalist people I know and you are just angry that you will never know friendship or love like I have known both, yet that is not a reason to hate or stop me from having such things.”

“That is where you are wrong,” Paris says. He reaches for his sword, the guards behind him following suit and Liam instinctively does the same, aware that Niall has too. “You said yourself of how important honour is. I will not let some little cunt from Greece ruin mine.”

“I have never made a claim on your honour!” Liam says darkly. “It is all in your head, you vile dog. And it is not anything to do with honour, it is to do with greed and selfishness and envy. And this…” He waves his hand around towards the entrance, through which the sounds of fighting can be heard clearly. “This is simply a reflection of you. _You_ caused this. _You_ caused these men to die because of some feud between us that you have created for yourself.”

“Troy will not be perturbed,” Paris says, slowly pulling his sword from his sheath. “We are a strong city and we will prevail over you. Guards!”

The two brutes behind him jump down the stairs quicker than Liam can reach for his sword, one grabbing him and pulling him up towards Paris, while the other grabs for Niall, knocking his sword to the ground before he too is seized and dragged back away from Zayn and the girls. Zayn screams Liam’s name as Paris raises his sword with a smirk up towards Liam’s throat, holding it there while Liam struggles roughly against the guard’s hold, Adam’s apple bobbing against the tip of the blade.

“I have dreamt of this day for so long,” Paris says, taking his eyes off Liam for a second to signal over two other guards, one who immediately grabs for Zayn, pinning his hands behind his back while the other grabs both Eleanor and Sophia, knocking to the ground and then grabbing at their wrists as they try to crawl away, letting them hang there limply.

“Liam!” Zayn yells, struggling viciously against his captor. “Liam, my love, _Liam!”_

“Shut up,” Paris snarls. “This has been my want since I was sixteen years of age. This will make me the happiest man in the world and I cannot believe it has taken me so long. Nothing will make me happier than seeing your head hanging in the middle of the Trojan square, seeing our victory as we rebuild what you took from us. Because without your great leadership, the Spartan army will fail underneath mine. You little friend Louis will be the next victim to my blade, after Niall, of course. So say goodbye to your love and your loyal friends, Liam of Wolver.”

His voice is cruel and Liam cannot speak, can barely breathe with fear and desperation as he cranes his head desperately, trying to get at least one final look at Zayn if this is the end. He struggles again, though this simply makes the grip on him tighten, and an involuntary whimper escapes his throat as the blade digs into his skin a little deeper, nicking enough so he hisses in pain. Blood runs down his neck and onto his collar as Paris starts to press a bit deeper and all Liam can hear is the sound of Zayn’s screams and Niall’s shouts, the clanking of metal and the smell of his own blood…

Suddenly, Paris’s face goes blank, his body rigid. The blade slides out of his hand and clatters to the stone floor loudly as he chokes out a sound that sounds so inhumane that it startles Liam, making him too freeze in the hold of the guard. It’s only then that he sees the silver glint of a sword protruding through his stomach and he yelps in fright as blood starts to drip from Paris’s mouth and then he slumps to his knees as if in slow motion, his limp body hitting Liam’s feet.

It’s only then that Liam notices Hipponax and six of his men, who immediately jump forward and to Liam’s aid. The guard holding him back drops to the floor but he’s taken down by two men as the other four lunge for the guards holding back Zayn and Niall, taking them both down easily as they come at both of them from two different angles so one hit will almost certainly take them down. Hipponax kicks Paris’s now still body out the way and bends down to help Liam to his feet, who nods gratefully and then immediately turns back to Zayn, who stumbles forward into his arms again and muffles a sob into Liam’s damp chest.

Niall, who has just finished killing the guard holding back the girls, swears loudly. “ _Oipho,_ Liam! That was far too close. Hipponax, thank the gods you were here in time!”

Hipponax, however, is now staring over towards the girls, eyes wide and a bloody hand covering his mouth. “El-Eleanor?”

Liam looks over to Eleanor over Zayn’s shoulder, who also has her hands pressed to her mouth in disbelief. “H-Hipponax? Is it… can it be?”

Hipponax nods slowly and then Eleanor stands up and runs into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist as he scoops her up and holds her close. Her arms wrap tightly around his neck and he stumbles a little but repeats her name again and again as she tucks her face into his neck.

“I thought you were dead,” Liam hears Hipponax mumble and Eleanor shakes her head, pulling back and cupping his face in her little hands.

“I thought you to be dead as well,” she whimpers, a tear escaping her eye. “I never thought I was to see you again.”

“Me too, me too,” Hipponax says, voice laced with disbelief and awe. “I am… I cannot believe…”

“What is going on?” Niall asks loudly. “I mean, forgive me for interrupting your reunion but I am confused, man.”

Hipponax carefully sets Eleanor to the ground again but keeps her close. “I… before my move to Sparta, I was of a nomadic people. We were lovers, back then and I thought… we were attacked by slave merchants and I… you were taken all the way to Troy?” he asks her, hand stroking through her matted hair. She nods sadly. “Oh, my love.”

Liam tears his eyes away from them and stares back at Zayn, pushing his own long hair from his eyes and gazing at him longingly, checking over him for bruises. Zayn shakes his head and starts to dab at Liam’s neck with his cloak, which makes Liam hiss.

“I thought I was going to lose you then,” he murmurs, eyes big and sad. “I am never been as scared as I was in those final seconds there.”

“As was I,” Liam admits quietly. “I did not want this to all have been in vain. I need you out of here if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

“It won’t be,” Zayn says, a gentle hand coming up to cup at Liam’s cheek. “We have many more years together, I know it.”

“I love you,” Liam whispers, a rogue tear slipping from his eye. “I love you and I missed you more than I have ever…”

“I missed you too,” Zayn says, pressing his face into Liam’s chest. “I thought for a terrible few days that…”

“Forgive me for interrupting but we should probably move,” Niall says hurriedly, reaching for his dropped sword as the sound of footsteps approaching is suddenly heard. “Liam, what is the plan?”

Liam pauses, unsure of how to continue now Paris is dead and he has Zayn back. “I… I still think we should retreat,” he says slowly, carefully. “Paris is dead and we have no need to take more lives now Paris is back. If we can get out as many men alive as we can then I shall consider it a victory.”

Niall nods. “Agreed. How shall we go about this?”

Liam hums. “It is unlikely that we will be able to locate Louis but to whatever _taxiarchos_ we can find we shall give the order.” He turns to Hipponax. “Do you know much of the body count?”

Hipponax shrugs his shoulders. “Not of our men, I’m afraid. I know that Evios’s men managed to breech a barracks of sleeping troops and took them down unaware, which stopped them from joining the battle, but there are also three more barracks that accounted to maybe five thousand men apiece. We can only hope and pray to Zeus for their safety.”

Liam nods, drawing his sword again as he reluctantly moves from Zayn’s embrace back to Paris’s body. “And this cunt? What do we do? Take his head to mark our victory?”

“It is up to you,” Niall says. “My vote would be on leaving his body here for the wolves and the thieves to eat and plunder. He is less likely to be given a hero’s burial this way.”

“Priam will bury him a hero either way,” Liam says. “But you speak truths; there will likely be a pillaging of this building and I don’t care what happens to it. His death does not deserve to be dwelled upon for he is worth nothing to me. Dwelling is exactly what he would have wanted.”

“Then let us get out of here,” Niall says, his own sword raised in readiness for them to head outside. “Are you ready?”

Liam nods slowly, turning back to the party and taking Zayn’s hand again. “Let us go.”

Hipponax reluctantly lets Eleanor go and draws his own sword, nodding as Niall ushers him forward so they’re the first out. The six soldiers then stand themselves Liam, Zayn and the girls in a protective circle and they slowly start on outside, towards the throng of noise and blood and war and preparing themselves for the worst.

Liam doesn’t let go of Zayn’s hand.

*

The sun is just rising by the time they get themselves out of the city gates. Liam’s exhausted and cold and emotionally drained, having seen the bodies of too many of his own men scattered across the Trojan streets as they’d snuck themselves out of there. It was a long and gruelling trek but they finally make it out with one final, terrifying dash outside through faltering battle.

Very few Trojan soldiers dare to follow them outside the gates and those that do are taken down easily enough, everyone weary and eager to simply retreat now the order has been given. The men they slaughter seem panicked once they realise they have left the safety of their city walls and either flee themselves or are taken down almost willingly. Liam moves Zayn to the front quickly, so he’s definitely out of the range of the last few arrows that are being shot in their direction, hand still clutched tightly in his own.

“The camp is perhaps three miles’ walk from here,” he murmurs to him, stroking a thumb across his knuckles. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Zayn croaks. “Emotional. A little shell-shocked. But infinitely better than I have for the past seven months, that I am sure.”

“ _Agapi mou,”_ Liam says softly. “I have not the words to tell you how I have felt without you. I cannot explain…”

“Then don’t,” Zayn says with a little shrug of his shoulders. “We can speak of it later. I… I just need you to know that I love you with all my heart and I cannot… you came for me and it means… I mean, I had heard from my father that you were coming but I… your distraction made me doubt and I am so sorry…”

“Ssssshhhh,” Liam coaxes, staring down at him and pressing a quick kiss into his temple. “I am sorry I gave you even a second’s worth of doubt.”

“I should not have doubted you myself,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “But let us… speak to me of other things. We have a camp, yes?”

Liam nods. “Not far from here. It is nothing fancy but it is hidden, concealed in the valley and by the tall mountains. We will not remain there long though. Tomorrow we will set out for the waters where our boats are docked. The sail is long but when we return to Argos then we can remain with Paxos’s blessing until we are rested and prepared enough to make the trek back to our fair Sparta.”

“Thank the gods,” Zayn sighs. “We will be home hopefully before the summer begins then.”

Liam nods. “If it goes well.”

“And do we have the resources to sail so soon?”

Liam hesitates. “I hope we do. Paxos said he would send a ship of supplies to catch up with ours about thirty moons after our departure. With any luck it will have arrived by now.”

“Are the boats simply left there?”

Liam shakes his head. “There are slaves and boat hands tending to them. A few soldiers left to guard too.”

“Good to know,” Zayn says, sounding relieved. “I would hate to be stranded on this god-forsaken land any longer than I have to be. Even being on the ocean sailing for days on end sounds more appealing.”

“I thought of you on the water often,” Liam tells him sadly. “Were you frightened?”

Zayn presses his lips together. “A little. I didn’t often leave the cabin that they gave me so I spent much of it sleeping and just drawing. Thinking of you a lot too.”

“My love,” Liam says softly. “I am so sorry he made you endure that. I hope sailing with me can ease your fears.”

“Of course they would,” Zayn says. “I let myself pretend often that you were curled up behind me and that made me less scared. I am not so worried for the sail back, do not fear.”

“That is good for me to know,” Liam croaks. He squeezes his hand a little tighter. “And I am just… to have you back here is… well, I just…” He stares at him again, heart swelling as Zayn offers him a precious smile. “I wish to hold you again properly. I wish to kiss your lips and tell you in as many words as I can find how much you mean to me and I cannot… I will never be as good with words as you are for this.”

“I don’t need your words,” Zayn says, bringing Liam’s hand to his mouth and pressing his lips to it. “I need you here and I have you here. It is enough.” He chuckles. “I do wish to hold you though. Despite the fact that you smell something awful, _phisi mou.”_

Liam does laugh at that. “Well, my apologies for not having a bathing maiden and warm water while out for your rescue. I will have some slaves clean me on return to camp though. I fear I am bloody and have made you bloody too.”

“Your hair is gone too,” Zayn says, somewhat forlornly. “Your beautiful curls. You look older this way, more of a man.”

“A general,” Liam offers with a snort.

“Perhaps,” Zayn laughs. “I prefer you with your curls though. You look more youthful and free with them.”

“I see how it is,” Liam pretends to scoff. “First you criticise my smell and then my hair. Was it worth me coming to collect a husband who makes jokes about my appearance this way?”

“You know I think you are the most beautiful man in the world,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. “And you know I would love you if you sheared your curls and never bathed again.”

“I do,” Liam says, squeezing his hand, for he is so grateful that the Zayn he rescued is still the Zayn he married, seemingly unscathed (at least on the surface) by his ordeal. “I love you very much as well.”

“I know,” Zayn says. It’s enough for them to lapse into a comfortable silence for a while, bodies pressed as close as they can for the walk until they pass over a hill and the sight of tents greets them, which makes Zayn sigh loudly with happiness. “Is that… is that Harry?”

“Aye, it is,” Liam grins, moving a little quicker and raising his arm into the air as the men and slaves in the camp notice their return and shout out a cheer. “Louis could not leave him behind.”

“What a sight for sore eyes,” Zayn says, throwing his head back and laughing happily. “I am so happy to see him!”

“Zayn!” Harry yells once they’re close enough, dashing over on his gangly legs and engulfing him in a tight hug. “By the gods, Zayn, I cannot tell you… you are alive and rescued, I am so happy!”

“Harry, my loyal friend,” Zayn says, gripping at his tunic tightly and tucking his face into his neck. Liam notes happily that Zayn seems somewhat surprised but also delighted at the change in him. “It is good to see a happy, familiar face again. How have you been? How are your hands?”

“Almost healed,” Harry says, pulling back and holding his palms out proudly. “Only a little scarring and I cannot fully bend these two fingers, but I care not because you’re here!”

He then moves on to hug Liam himself but jumps back, gasping when he sees how bloody Liam’s chest is. “Are you hurting? What struck you?”

“Paris held a blade to my throat but then Hipponax saved my life,” Liam says, gesturing to him as the rest of the group approaches slowly. “Brother, I never thanked you properly. I owe to you my life, and Zayn’s.” He takes his hand in his and clutches it firmly, a bright smile on his face. “Thank you.”

Hipponax just shrugs. “I am sure you would have done the same. It was no task. We are out and I have my life and now my love. I cannot thank you enough for leading me back to her. I am only sorry that I took away the honour from you of killing him yourself.”

“No bother,” Liam says brilliantly. “I feel nothing for the man other than hate so I am glad he is no more, whether it be my blade that did it or yours.” He smiles over to Eleanor and hugs her too. “I am dumbfounded that I was able to aid in this reunion but I wish you two many moons of happiness together.”

Eleanor murmurs her own quiet thank you and then they are led off by another healer slave to treat the cut on Hipponax’s forearm. Liam turns back to Harry, who is still chatting with Zayn in a low voice but then arms wrap around his waist and he’s lifted slightly off the ground, making him yelp a little in pain and surprise.

“Brother, we did it!” Niall yells, setting him down and then engulfing him in another painful squeeze. “Paris is dead and I see many men coming over the hills, more than I thought would return, which is incredible.”

Harry gasps beside him. “Paris is dead?”

Liam nod, smile wide and beaming. “Hipponax ran him through with a sword. He died well.”

“The best of news!” Harry shouts happily. “And look how many men are returning! I had feared the worst, I cannot lie.”

“Me too,” Liam sighs, relieved. He moves to undo his armour from across his chest and winces in pain. “Urgh, this hurts. I think I need to bathe this immediately.”

“You do,” Zayn says, signalling over a slave. “It needs healing honey.”

“I still have the herbal remedy from Leigh-Anne that I used for my hands,” Harry adds.

Liam nods gratefully. “First I just want to get my armour off. Harry, can you assist me in removing it?”

Harry nods, hurrying forward to start untying it when they’re interrupted by a shout.

“Someone help!” a voice yells from the throng of men. “Someone help, he can barely stand!” Liam turns his head, craning to see who he’s speaking of as more and more men trickle into the camp. He spots Peithon jogging towards him and salutes him, but Peithon shakes his head concernedly.

“They are shouting for Louis,” he shouts to him as he approaches and Liam’s blood runs cold. “He is injured badly, he has lost much blood.”

There’s a crash and Liam realises belatedly that Harry has dropped his breast plate to the floor and is now running towards the throng of men, a haggard cry of “Louis!” leaving his lips. Liam charges straight after him, ignoring the pain in his chest and the tiredness in his bones, shouting at a couple of the healer slaves to follow him.

When he approaches the scene he sees Louis limping forward towards Harry, blood dripping down his left arm, an arrow sticking out from deep inside an ugly wound on his shoulder. Harry chokes out a sob as he gets close to him, taking both Louis’s smaller hands in his before Louis crashes into him as his legs give way.

“Look who greets me, my lovely Harry,” he says, his eyes wide and glistening with tears. “My beautiful, sweet boy. I love you so much.”

“Louis,” Harry weeps, laying him gently to the floor and then dropping to his knees. “Louis, my love, _Louis.”_

“I cannot feel my arm,” Louis rasps, trying for a laugh but it sounds more like a sob has been ripped from him. “And I feel tired. I wish to rest my eyes.”

“No,” Liam chokes out, “no, Louis, brother, _no…_ ”

“Don’t you _dare,”_ Harry says fiercely, clinging to him even as the healer slaves hurry in and start dabbing hot water over the blood, which makes him hiss. “Don’t you fucking _dare,_ Louis, I… I love you and I need you, _please…”_

An arm winds its way around Liam’s waist and he doesn’t even realise he’s crying himself until a gentle thumb wipes at his cheek, brushing the tears away as he stares down at his dying best friend.

“Listen to me,” he hears Louis croak and Liam chokes out another sob, covering his mouth as Zayn strokes comfortingly up and down his back. “There is no place I would be prouder to die than here.”

“Shut up,” Liam and Harry both say at the same time. Louis lets out a pained laugh.

“Zayn,” he says weakly. “It is good to see your face again. I am glad to have helped in bringing you home.”

“I look forward to thanking you properly once you are healed, brother,” Zayn says, his voice only wavering a little. “But I will have you know I am grateful now, so grateful.”

Another sob escapes from Harry and Louis clings to him a little tighter, his knuckles going near white. “And you, my love. My beautiful, sweet boy. I wish I had all the time in the world with you but alas…”

“You will,” Harry says forcefully, his own tears falling in huge droplets onto Louis’s tunic. “You _promised_ me, Louis; you are to take me to see the sea and we are to be married and…”

“Surely you will have seen enough of the sea by the time you have sailed back,” Louis says jokingly. Harry shakes his head, his matted curls sticking to his damp cheeks.

“Never,” he croaks. “I only wish to see it with you. I only…” He breaks off when he notices Louis’s eyes fluttering shut. “No, no, _no,_ don’t you _dare_ fall to sleep on me, I will not…”

Liam buries his face into Zayn’s hair so he doesn’t have to watch the heartbreak that he’s sure is about to unfurl but then there’s a weak cough and Harry cries harder, his face dropping onto Louis’s chest as he clutches desperately at his sides.

“Louis!” he cries in despair and Liam can barely stand it, the way there’s a small gathering of people standing around them now while Harry’s heart fucking crumbles and his best friend lays dying.

“I’m still here,” slurs a voice a few moments later. “I don’t… I don’t want to die.” A few more tears escape his eyes and cling to his eyelashes. Harry dabs at them with the bottom of his tunic.

 “You are not going to die,” he scoffs, but then frantically starts to wipe at his tears so he can let Louis wrap his arms around his neck. He carefully scoops his smaller body up, carrying him in his arms like a baby. He glares as any of the healer slaves come close as he adjusts him carefully, mindful of the arrow. Liam carefully pulls away from Zayn and reaches forward to place his hand on Harry’s shoulder, but Harry twitches back with a shake of his head and holds Louis tighter, letting his lover cry into the soft fabric of his tunic as he carries him towards the camp.

“Liam,” Zayn says anxiously, gently turning him in his arms so he can cup his tear-streaked face. “Liam, he will live, I know it.”

“Will he?” Liam weeps, craning his neck to watch him be carried away before he sags a little into Zayn’s arms. “How can you know?”

There’s a pause. “I know I cannot know exactly but he is strong,” Zayn says, his own voice thick with tears. “As are you, but I am anxious to get your own wounds clean. There is not much more that you can do for him right now but you are bleeding again, my love.”

Liam nods dumbly as he lets himself be guided back to camp, past where Niall is shouting something about marching back up to Troy and skinning whoever shot the arrow alive and towards Liam’s own tent, which is easy enough to distinguish because it’s one of the biggest in the camp. Two slaves follow them obediently and Zayn sends them out for bandages and hot water, then ducks inside the tent so he can undress him himself.

“I… I can have a slave do it if you would rather sleep,” Liam rasps. Zayn snorts, shaking his head as he pulls Liam’s tunic up over his shoulders gently.

“Nonsense,” he murmurs, smiling gratefully as the slaves bring the supplies in. “I have not seen you for seven months and you think I would rather sleep than be with you?” He dabs a cloth in the water and then gently pats it across the drying blood on Liam’s chest, a soothing hand stroking up his side as he hisses in pain. “Also, I will wager it is you who needs sleep more than I.”

Liam tries for a laugh but winces instead as Zayn’s hand moves to dab right over the cut on his neck. “ _Ow._ ”

“Sorry,” Zayn says, wincing himself before he presses a gentle kiss into Liam’s shoulder. “How do you feel? Do you want for anything?”

“I just ache,” Liam says honestly. “I wish to be back in our bed more than anything. I wish for a long bath and I wish to make love to you and I wish for a meal prepared by our cooks the way I like it.” He pauses, shoulders slumped in defeat. “I wish for my brother to not be near death.”

Zayn keeps dabbing gently at his wounds. “Louis will not die, I swear it. He is strong and although the wound is severe and he has lost much blood, I believe in the healers here. He will be right again soon.” He bends to dip the cloth in water again and then rings it out slowly. “As for the rest of those, you will get them soon enough, we both know it. I wish for it too but I can wait.”

Liam nods. “I know, I know. I am just so…” He swallows loudly, hands reaching out for Zayn again. “Having you here in front of me still feels like a dream.”

Zayn hums in agreement, offering a small smile. “I know. I have never felt pain like being apart from you and I never wish to feel it again.” He carefully steps back from Liam, face reluctant, as he washes off the last of the blood from his wounds, before he picks up the bandages from the bed and coaxes Liam’s arms up so he can carefully step around his body to wrap them. “How is your shoulder? You fell on it hard as the guard swung for you.”

Liam’s hand moves awkwardly to it, feeling over it a little. It’s a little swollen but it’s nothing he feels he needs treating for. “It is fine. Nothing that I need a healer for, I do not think.”

Zayn nods again, tongue out in concentration as he ties the bandages into a secure knot. “Have you a clean tunic anywhere?”

Liam looks behind him and points to the sack next to his makeshift mattress. “In there, I think. Not clean, sadly; not many of my things are clean anymore.”

Zayn laughs at that as he goes over and pulls it out, gently tugging it over Liam’s sore chest. Once it’s settled against his bare skin, then he allows himself to sink into Liam’s arms, nuzzling his nose into his undamaged shoulder.

“I could not stand the sight of you covered in blood,” he murmurs into the fabric. “You are much more my husband now and I like it a lot more.”

Liam’s arms wrap around Zayn’s waist, nuzzling his own into Zayn’s sweaty hair. “I am glad. I hate being in covered in blood too, it makes me feel so… barbaric.” He pulls back slightly and smiles down at his husband sadly. “You are covered in blood too, _agapi mou._ ”

Zayn shrugs. “I have no other clothes.”

“I am sure you are about the same size as Louis, you could borrow…” Liam cuts himself off, biting his lip to stop it trembling. Zayn pulls him back into an embrace and just stands there holding him for a good long will.

“My love, do not dwell too hard. He will be as well as the gods will have him be,” he says eventually, stroking his hand up and down Liam’s back carefully. “He is a stubborn brat though. If there is any life to hang onto then he will most certainly do so.”

Liam lets out a wet chuckle and nods. “I know, I know. I did… I knew there would be casualties to this, of course I did, but I never so much as entertained the thought that it could be Louis.”

“You do not need to, he is strong and stubborn as I said,” Zayn says reassuringly. “I know it may sound harsh but you need to not think. _You_ are my concern, _phisi mou,_ so I wish to get you a meal and then to bed.”

“I will not be able to sleep…” Liam croaks weakly in protest. Zayn snorts.

“Nonsense. I can feel you sagging in my arms as we stand here. A meal and then bed for you, Liam.”

“Are you tired?” Liam asks.

“I am always tired,” Zayn says with a fond smile. He strokes across Liam’s stubbly cheek with his thumb. “Come on. Food.”

Liam nods as Zayn interlocks their fingers and pulls him outside, towards where a large pot of stew is being served to the rest of the hungry troops. He tenses a little as they pass one of the healing tents where Louis’s cries of pain are crystal clear, but Zayn tugs him away hurriedly towards the food, bringing his hand to his mouth and brushing his lips across his knuckles.

“It will be what it will be,” he assures quietly. “Here, let me get us some stew and bread and then we can eat in our tent.”

Liam shakes his head weakly. “I… we should eat with the men. I should speak to them of how proud I am of them and their efforts.”

Zayn shakes his head hurriedly. “ _Psihi mou,_ you are too weary, I must protest...” Liam looks forlorn until Zayn sighs and presses another kiss into his hand. “Would it make you feel better to address all your men now?”

Liam nods and Zayn squeezes his hand again before dropping it. “I will fetch us our food then. I love you.”

“Love you,” Liam rasps after him before he clears his throat and turns to his men. “Men of Sparta!”

The men all turn to stare at him slowly and he takes a second to take the scene in. Some have arms in slings and some have bandages around their head or arms or chest like him. Absolutely all of them look exhausted and a few look as if they have been crying. Liam really does not blame them as he notes how few men they are in comparison to that morning, sighing to himself at the thought of how many brothers have been lost, how many friends and bunkmates. It makes his heart hurt so he barrels on in what he hopes is more positive.

“Paris is dead, the battle is won. Troy has suffered a great loss and it is at your hands. Sparta remains noble and triumphant!”

The cheer is weaker than Liam hoped but it is clear the men just wish to eat and then sleep. He coughs again.

“We shall not forget those who fell, of course. It was with honour that they died and they shall be remembered.”

“For Sparta,” Hipponax chips in, raising his hand in solidarity. Peithon joins, followed by Icanorus and gradually it spreads as the men begin to chant for Sparta. Liam wipes his eyes on the back of his hand as they get louder, overwhelmed and somewhat distraught tears leaking from his eyes as he looks at just how exhausted his men are, how downtrodden and tired and dejected. He shakes his head and tries to stifle them as he speaks again.

“We shall leave this land tomorrow. I wish for you all to go home and to have rest, to see your loved ones and to not live in fear any longer,” he croaks loudly, hand dropping over Zayn’s shoulders as he returns with two warm bowls. “And from the bottom of my heart and Zayn’s, I am so grateful for your courage and your aid. I am overwhelmed with appreciation for each and every one of you and I will never forget those who spared their lives for me.”

There’s a murmur around the group once more and Zayn hands Liam a steaming bowl so he can raise his hand too, holding it to his heart before he calls a weak “thank you.” It is then that they opt to return to their tent, where they eat their meal in a relative silence, Liam wincing every now and then as he forgets his injuries and moves in a way he shouldn’t.

Once they’ve finished, Zayn carries the bowls outside to hand to a slave and Liam goes for a piss before returning back to the tent. It is now light outside but Liam wants to close his eyes for a long time and it’s only when he sits on his mattress he realises how tired he actually is.

Zayn returns then, dropping the tent flap closed and sitting down next to him on the mattress. “Do you wish to sleep or do you wish to talk for a while?”

“Both,” Liam answers truthfully. Zayn smiles a little as he carefully presses Liam back against the pillows before he lies himself next to him, so their faces are close and their hands are linked between them. Liam sighs sadly. “I… I am sorry if I have made it seem that I care more for Louis than I do for your return. I do not meet to be this mopey after having reunited with you, _agapi mou._ ”

Zayn shakes his head against the pillow, his longer hair fanning out across it. “I understand, Liam. Louis has been with you for almost your whole life and he is your brother. I was always a sure thing, so I can wait.”

“You should not have to wait,” Liam protests. “I have waited so long for you and now…”

“I will be a sure thing still once we learn if Louis will make it,” Zayn says softly. He untangles their fingers so he can thumb over the worry lines that have set on Liam’s brow. “Liam. Stop worrying about me. You have me again, there is no need.”

“I will worry about you every second of every day,” Liam tells him. Zayn offers him a smile and takes his hand again, squeezing it gently.

“I will worry about you too,” he says. “I worried about you so much. I was told you were dead three times.”

Liam’s breath hitches. “Did you… you did not believe it, did you?”

Zayn shakes his head again. “Well, I…” He shifts so his other hand is free, where Liam sees his bangle sitting on Zayn’s slim wrist. “They produced this as proof so I did believe for a time. There was no way you have ever given this up, of that I was aware.”

“They knocked me out,” Liam says weakly. “They knocked me out and I was so distraught at losing you that I did not even notice until Louis pointed it out. I thought I had lost it somewhere on our journey.”

Zayn slides it off his wrist and gently onto Liam’s again, where it sits against the skin and covers the tan line. “For you. I am so sorry it was taken from you.”

Liam nods and sniffs back a sob. “Thank you,” he says, and his voice comes out rather strangled. “Thank you for keeping it safe.”

“Thank you for coming to fetch me,” Zayn says simply. “God, Liam, can I kiss you?”

“You do not have to ask,” Liam says timidly. Zayn nods a little before pressing forward, moulding their lips together slowly. It feels like heat has spread through all of Liam’s body – he grips at Zayn’s hips and tugs him closer, cupping his face in his hand and pressing into him as they kiss for the first time in seven months. It doesn’t last long because they’re both clearly exhausted and it’s more of a welcome home than it is anything else, but Liam feels infinitely better and rests his forehead against Zayn’s, hot breath fanning over his cheeks.

“I love you,” Zayn says in a small voice. “And I’m so proud of you.”

“I love you so much,” Liam echoes, eyes closing for a second before opening again. “I am proud of you too. I am proud to call you my husband more than anything.”

Zayn smiles into his lips as he kisses him again sweetly. “Sleep now, I think,” he coaxes, now brushing a light kiss over Liam’s eyelids and nose. “We can get sappy in the morning.”

Liam nods, tightening his grip around Zayn’s middle as he drifts under. He’s cold and he aches and he feels sick at the thought of losing Louis, but with Zayn’s warmth and all but forgotten scent beside him, he sleeps better than he has in seven months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :(
> 
> [if you want to come yell at me (please do) here's my tumblr](http://zavenclaw.tumblr.com)


	8. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Liam's distressed, Zayn's a shoulder to cry on, Harry's a wreck, Louis might be dying and Niall gets seasick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is short and not a lot happens but that's okay because after this happy nice fun less bloody things can happen yaaaaayyyyy!!!

Five and a half thousand men is the total number of casualties.

Zayn wraps his arms around Liam’s waist, blunt nails scratching at his skin through his tunic as Liam tells him the news in a low voice, strained and trying in vain to bite back tears. Zayn’s always been struck with how harrowed Liam is after a battle – it is almost as if he forgets that human casualties are commonplace in war and he seems surprised by it. It breaks Zayn’s heart because these men died in order to save _him,_ and although Liam mumbles that it was not just for him but for Sparta’s honour and protection as well, he isn’t sure either of them quite believe that.

It’s not an easy morning when they wake up – Zayn wakes up without the body next to him that he was expecting and for a terrifying second he thinks it’s all been a wonderful but sadly unreal dream. He blinks a few times and registers that he’s in a tent with Liam’s cloak around him, smelling of sweat and damp but so much more like home than anything he’s experienced over the past seven months. He shivers a little from the morning cold and pulls it a little closer around his shoulders, just taking in the scent for a little longer despite the fact that he’d much rather be in the warmth of Liam’s arms instead.

He hears men outside though, talking loudly over the crunching of their armour-plated legs to the ground. It’s chilly and Zayn has no idea what time it is, but he knows he’s hungry, thirsty and needs to empty his bladder so after a few more minutes of warm dozing he sits up, pulling the cloak around his shoulders before stepping into his sandals and walking outside to find his husband.

Liam is easy to spot – he’s stood near the centre of camp with Niall, shoulders slumped and heads bowed close together. Zayn hurries towards them, feeling out of place among so many soldiers despite them helping in his rescue. Liam notices him before he approaches and his sullen expression morphs into a smile, albeit a reserved, almost sad one. He opens his arms and Zayn stumbles forward, wrapping his arms around Liam’s neck, tucking his face into his neck and inhaling.

“I feared I was still in Paris’s hold when I woke up and you were not there,” he mumbles, feeling a bit pathetic but not really caring as Liam’s arms tighten around him. “But then I had your cloak and it was okay.” Liam pulls back and cups his face, eyes scanning across his face. “No, really, I am fine.” He clears his throat. “Morning, Niall.”

“Morning to you too, Zayn,” Niall says. He smiles but, like Liam’s, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Liam turns him in his arms so they’re pressed side to side, his grip not loosening. Something is definitely up.

Zayn clears his throat awkwardly. “I… um, what is the plan for us today?”

Liam makes a choking sound and Zayn turns to stare at him, startled. Niall sighs harshly and scrubs a hand over his face. Zayn looks between them, eyes narrowing.

“What has happened?” he croaks. He looks back up to Liam, who looks like he might cry at any moment. “Liam?”

He can see Liam’s lip tremble and his stomach drops. Niall puts a careful hand on his shoulder.

“Perhaps you should go back to your tent,” he says, voice quiet but urgent. “I fear that perhaps this is something he should not have to say in the view of others.”

Zayn nods dumbly, his grip on Liam tightening a little. “O-of course,” he says, only wincing a touch as Liam’s fingers start to pinch desperately at his skin. “Liam?”

“Zayn,” Liam chokes out quietly, turning his head back towards camp and away from where he was staring at the men in front of him. “Zayn, I…”

“Come with me,” Zayn orders gently, offering a tight smile to Niall before he guides him back towards their tent. Men pass them on the walk but it is only sombre mutters and tight smiles exchanged between them. He feels Liam’s shoulders go rigid so he moves them along a little faster, murmuring “my _psihi mou,_ it is okay” into his shoulder.

Once they’re safely inside the tent, Liam slumps in Zayn’s arms, immediately burying his face in Zayn’s neck and letting out a dry sob. Alarmed, Zayn clutches at him desperately, hand fisting as best it can in his hair while the other snakes around his waist, pulling him as close to his body as he can.

“Zayn,” he chokes again. “Oh, Zayn, I…”

“Breathe for me, my love, _breathe,_ ” Zayn coaxes, hand firm on the small of his back. “Liam, _Liam,_ stop trying to speak and just…”

Liam whimpers and begins to weep openly, spilling tears in front of Zayn for only the fourth time in their years of marriage. Zayn uses the cloak around his shoulders to mop his face as best he can but the utter heart-wrenching, almost animalistic sobs leaving Liam’s body, shaking his whole chest and sounding almost painful. It almost makes him want to cry himself but he blinks his own tears back and just clings to his husband, rubbing his cheek across his head gently while his hands stroke up his back.

“We lost over half our men,” Liam croaks after what feels like decades. “Half our men travelled across land and sea for a badly organised battle that ended in their deaths.” Zayn’s heart feels like it’s dropped from his chest. “I knew there would be causalities, but… but I did not believe it would be this many.”

Zayn goes rigid in his arms but keeps his hand moving up Liam’s back, taking a deep breath and then holding it in before he lets it out in a long exhale. “How many is half?” he asks timidly, willing his voice not to crack.

“We came with over ten thousand men,” Liam all but whispers. “And we are to leave with just under five of those thousands. I was with Hipponax this morning as he did the counts of the legions and I… I…”

“Oh, Liam,” Zayn says weakly, pressing himself closer to his husband’s burning body. “Liam, I…” He presses several gentle kisses onto Liam’s rough cheek. “Here, sit for me a moment.”

Liam sniffs as they break apart, letting Zayn press him onto their uncomfortable straw mattress before he curls up behind him, arms draped over his shoulders and cheeks pressed together. Liam leans back, hands covering Zayn’s across his chest. He sighs, shaking his head a little before he turns his head to press his nose into Zayn’s cheek.

“I do not wish to burden you with this,” he croaks, lips dry against Zayn’s skin. “But I needed… I needed to be _away…_ ”

There’s a pause in which they just cling to each other, but after a time Zayn risks a dry laugh. “You speak of a burden as if I have not just burdened you with months of travel across land and sea, which is what resulted in this many deaths.”

Liam pulls back in horror. “Zayn, I… surely you do not… it is not your fault, Zayn, you must know that.”

“Not directly,” Zayn admits, hand moving over the back of Liam’s neck. “But if I had not been so angry with you the day we left, then perhaps this would have not…”

“Stop…”

“And I had not gone to sleep without knowing you were by my side, then perhaps something could have been done,” he finishes, shaking his head a little.

“Absolutely not,” Liam says. “I spoke with your father and he says it is almost better that I was not there when I was. If I had been in our house then Zeus reckons I would have had my throat cut.”

Zayn’s grip tightens around Liam’s shoulders, a nervous heat prickling up his neck. “You were not in our house?” he asks carefully. “If not, then where were you?”

He can feel Liam swallow nervously. “I, er… I went to see Anaxidamus.”

“You did _what?_ ” Zayn squeaks, digging his nails into his palm to stop him from simply whacking Liam upside the head in frustration. “Liam, what on earth were you thinking? I told you not to leave the house!”

“Yes, I know,” Liam says lowly. He does sound regretful, to his credit. “But it saved my life, _agapi mou._ It is because of my stupidity that I am here with you again.”

Zayn sighs, resting his forehead on Liam’s shoulder. “I wish you were not so reckless,” he says, muffled by Liam’s tunic. He looks up again, eyes seeking out Liam’s. He brushes a stray tear from Liam’s cheek. “But I am glad you disobeyed me, for once in my life.”

Liam offers him a smile through his tears. He brings a hand up to Zayn’s chin, resting the side of his index finger underneath it so he can tilt Zayn’s head, bringing it forward for a quick kiss. “Thank you.” He coughs awkwardly. “It is a terrible situation for all anyway. I do not blame you if you hold any ill wishes towards me. The battle was ill-planned in parts and it cannot be easy to hear that this was your rescue.” He clears his throat again. “I hold ill wishes towards myself, if I’m honest.”

“No, listen,” Zayn says firmly, eyes wide and upset. “I do not blame anyone - least of all you, my husband - but it is not easy to know that it was a battle in my honour.”

“It was in the honour of our house and of our city,” Liam insists. “Look how we have razed Troy to the ground in one battle over one nightfall. We are the strongest city in the empire and we have once again shown that.”

“And we are strong because of _you,”_ Zayn says, throwing his leg across Liam’s thighs and perching on his lap. He takes Liam’s face in both cheeks and presses a kiss onto his forehead, just a light brush of lips, tender and loving. “I am most upset that it needed to happen, but I hold no ill feelings, especially not towards my rescuer.”

“I would do it ten times over,” Liam says as he wraps his arms around Zayn’s waist, pulling him as he close as he can. He tucks his face into Zayn’s neck and takes a deep breath. “For I have missed doing this more than I knew it was possible to miss something.” He chuckles wetly. “I feel as if I miss you right now even though you are right here. I can never hold you tight enough.”

“Same to you,” Zayn says, brushing another gentle kiss across his forehead. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” Liam echoes. His voice is raspy from the tears but Zayn knows that nothing has changed between them. “We can make it until the end, I know it.”

“We will,” Zayn promises. He runs a finger over Liam’s eyebrows, smoothing away the worry lines. “I promise I hold no ill thoughts, I promise.”

“I am so glad,” Liam says. “I fear that this may be on my conscious for a while though, I…”

“As is expected,” Zayn assures. “That many deaths are a lot, for both the city and the general that led them. You are strong, yes, but you care so much, Liam. Your heart is so big and I would rather that than you disregard this as simply a necessity in the name of Sparta.”

“You know there is little I would not do in the name of my city,” Liam answers after a pause. “But I would give my city up in an instant for you. I am sorry, so sorry it came to this.”

“Hush,” Zayn says gently, knocking their foreheads together. “I see nothing for you to apologise for, at least not to me. You came for me, and we are together. I am so, so grateful, more grateful than I know how to put into words.”

Liam shrugs. “It is what I am here for, to protect you and love you. I mean it when I say I would do it ten more times if I had to.”

“Let us hope you never have to,” Zayn says. “Paris is dead, after all, and I hope this is enough of a warning to any others.”

“I hope so,” Liam mumbles. He draws Zayn close again, curling up against his chest like a child in their mother’s lap. “I need to check on Louis too. I… I have not let my thoughts stray to him much yet but…”

Zayn just nods, tenderly kissing the crown of Liam’s head and cradling him to his chest. “Any word?”

Liam shakes his head as best he can. “Not one. I can only hope that means good news.”

“It probably does,” Zayn assures gently. “He is strong like you. He will fight through and come out the other side, of that I am almost completely certain. If not for himself, then for Harry, bless his heart.”

“Poor Harry,” Liam croaks. His fists tighten in the back of Zayn’s cloak. “I must go to him too. I know what it is like to have the one you love most taken from you.”

“He is not taken yet,” Zayn says. “But yes, we should go to Harry, make sure the lad is okay.”

“You have missed these past few months, they have fallen in love so irreparably,” Liam says wistfully. “I have never seen Louis like this, but those two are certainly something. Harry is so eager to be his and Louis is so willing to show his love in return. It’s been quite a journey to watch.”

“I wish I had been there to see it,” Zayn says, smiling softly. “Are they to be married, then?”

“Upon our return to Sparta I do not doubt that Louis will ask for his hand,” Liam replies. “I remember a conversation where we spoke of how they would never dare marry without you there to watch them.”

Zayn lets out a breathy laugh. “True, very true” he murmurs. “Should we go to Harry and Louis now or do you wish for a few more minutes alone?”

Liam thinks for a moment, but eventually shakes his head. “Now, I think. I feel like I have run away from my responsibilities for long enough.” He looks up into Zayn’s eyes, smiling the first real smile of his that Zayn has seen since his rescue. “Thank you.”

“What for, _psihi mou?_ ”

“For being you,” Liam says with a little shrug. “For comforting me and for… for loving me. For being _here._ ”

Zayn mirrors his smile. “You didn’t give me much of a choice,” he says, a hint of teasing in his voice. “But I’m glad you didn’t. I love you so much.”

“Me too,” Liam says, and _oipho,_ he’s so beautiful, so earnest and warm and everything Zayn’s ever wanted. “More than I knew I could.” He’s smiling so sincerely, gorgeous and true, so Zayn darts forward and kisses him, fists a hand in the back of his hair and keeps him in place as Liam makes a surprised sound but kisses back straight away, their lips slick and sliding together like they haven’t in so long. It’s soft but firm, hot and wet and perfect. Zayn smiles into it, hand softly cupping Liam’s cheek to keep them pressed firm, and when they eventually pull apart Liam chases Zayn’s lips, pressing another few, more chaste kisses to his mouth.

“How did I live for so many months without this?” he murmurs, knocking this foreheads together again. “How did I do it?”

Zayn giggles, kissing him once more. “I do not know, my love. But at least you will never have to again. I have no intention of leaving your side, not for a long time.”

Liam smiles, taking a deep breath before he nods and then carefully, reluctantly, untangles his and Zayn’s legs. He reaches down and helps Zayn to his feet, carefully linking their fingers. “Shall we go then? See what is happening with Louis?”

“Yes, let’s,” Zayn agrees, taking a deep breath of his own. Hands clutched together between them, they exit the tent back into the cool morning air, breeze hitting their faces and making goosebumps pop up on Zayn’s arms.

“Where is Niall?” Liam asks lowly, eyes darting around the field. “We should check on Louis together.”

Zayn nods and then scans across the field, eventually spotting the familiar shock of blond hair not far from the medical tents. He nudges Liam gently, who squeezes his hand then moves them in that direction. More men pass, some sparing them a greeting and some looking past them, and it’s clear the mood in camp is going to remain sombre for a while. They don’t speak as they cross the camp, the only sound the crunching of leaves and sticks underfoot as they approach Niall and the healing camp, where he’s chatting to Peithon as a wound on his leg is washed by a slave.

“Ah, Liam, brother,” he calls to them upon their approach. “Do you fare better now?”

“Much, thank you,” Liam says. “I just needed some time to… to take in what I was told.” Niall claps him on the shoulder and they share a quick, one-armed embrace before Niall turns to Zayn.

“And a better morning greeting for you,” he offers, tucking himself into Zayn’s side for their own hug. “How do you fare yourself?”

“Tired but well,” Zayn says, squeezing at his waist. “Nice to wake up with familiar and friendly faces.” He suddenly thinks of what he used to wake up to and gasps, eyes flying open wide. “ _Oipho,_ I forgot to check before sleep. How are Eleanor and Sophia? Are they well?”

“I believe so,” Peithon says. “I’ve spoken to Hipponax and he spent the night with Eleanor, of course. Sophia slept in with some of the slaves. Both are well and have fed this morning.”

Zayn lets out a long sigh of relief. “Wonderful,” he says with a smile. “And how are you?”

“Tired as well,” Niall admits. “We all are. But we can only remain here another day at most so there is no time to rest.”

“Why?”

“Troy must have worked out where we are camped,” Niall explains. “And we are injured, and weak, and have few provisions. The ship from Argos docked this morning, by some God-given miracle. If we rest today and then march towards the boats I would wager we could make it in two, perhaps three days.”

“But what of the injured?” Zayn asks. “What of Louis?”

Niall pulls a face, hand tightening around Zayn’s waist. “Louis is… Louis…”

Liam’s hand has gone limp in Zayn’s, his body stock still. Zayn turns to look at him and sees he is biting on his bottom lip, harsh enough for it to be white in colour. He squeezes Liam’s hand, tugging at it awkwardly so he joins their tangle of limbs in a strange embrace.

“Louis is…” Niall starts again after a long, painful pause. “Louis is not well. He burns with fever, and his wound is deep and he lost much blood. I went to see him this morning and it’s… oh, Liam, I don’t know if he will make it.”

Zayn’s breathe hitches in shock and he drops his arm from around Niall’s waist to clap a hand over his mouth in horror. Liam’s gone stock still, like a boulder is pressed against him rather than a person, cold and stiff. Niall takes a step back, mumbling something about them moving on and trying their best for him, but Liam doesn’t seem to be listening so Zayn tries to him in his arms properly but he doesn’t hug back, body rigid and eyes wide and unseeing.

 “No,” he whispers eventually, barely audible over the ringing in Zayn’s ears. “No, no, no, _no,_ he… my brother, I…”

“Liam,” Zayn chokes, reaching up to cup his face. “Liam, I need you to breathe for me once again, Liam, _please._ ”

“I…” Liam hiccups awkwardly, hands curling painfully tight in the back of Zayn’s cloak and pulling it taught across his skin. He’s trembling now, shaking so fast that Zayn almost doesn’t register it. “What have the healers said?”

Niall sniffs. “That he is weak, one of the weakest still breathing. Anthemion says he is surprised that he survived the night, the fever burns through him so strong. Harry has not left his side, though, keeping him awake and speaking, which has helped.” He runs a hand through his matted hair so it sticks out at several angles. “Our brother is stubborn. He does not want to die, but I am so afraid. His wound was deep and it hasn’t stopped bleeding…”

“Do we think he will not survive if we move camp tonight?” Liam croaks.

“I am unsure,” Niall replies with a shrug. “But I cannot imagine he will be easy to move. Not to mention there are many other men with injuries. Can we not postpone our journey to the boats another night?”

“I do not wish to make our remaining men more vulnerable,” Liam says. “But I do wish to keep as many lives as possible.” He clears his throat and rests his forehead on top of Zayn’s head, inhaling deeply. “Perhaps we can send some men forward first, with you at the head? Then I can wait here for another day or two, see what becomes of Louis, and make my decisions then.”

“Liam, these are decisions you should not have to make alone,” Niall argues. “It will not bring you favour if you make all these harsh decisions without consulting the men’s _taxiarchos_ first.”

“General, if you please, I respect your love for your brother but I must agree with Niall here,” Peithon adds. Zayn had forgotten he was even sat there. “My men are still three hundred strong but I don’t know the specifics of each man’s injuries. Give us a day and another night to reconvene and then to rest, at least. People will thank you for it, I think.”

Liam nods tightly. “Very well, you speak good points.” He turns back to Zayn, who stands up a little straighter. “Shall we go to Louis now? I wish to see him before I make more plans, perhaps. And are you okay with staying another night?”

Zayn nods. “I only wish for the safety and well-health of as many of the soldiers as we can have it.” He pulls a face. “Also, anything to postpone that infernal trip on water, too.”

Both Liam and Niall laugh at that and Zayn grins too, sliding his hand down Liam’s back and off it so he can lace their fingers instead. “Very well,” Liam murmurs, squeezing his hand. “Niall, Peithon, can you call the _taxiarchos_ to a council for in, shall we say, an hour’s time? We can decide then whether to send men forth or whether to say as a large party.”

Niall nods, clapping Liam on the shoulder before he disappears off. Liam takes a deep breath and tilts his head towards the tent where Louis’s being kept, nerves evident on his face.

“ _Psihi mou,”_ Zayn says carefully. “We do not have to do this.”

Liam lets out a surprised laugh, which sounds more strangled than anything. “No, no, I must. I just, er, I should not be this nervous, should I? Louis has been my brother since we were but sixteen and eighteen years old. I have never had a reason to fear before.”

“It is not Louis you fear, it is seeing him in a way you have not seen him before,” Zayn explains gently. “Also perhaps you fear Harry’s wrath a little.”

Another nervous laugh escapes Liam’s lips. “Perhaps, perhaps,” he chuckles, though there is no humour behind it. “I… I know what it feels like to have the loss of a love so imminent. He must be hurting so much and I… I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Fix this by being the friend - the _brother -_ you have always been,” Zayn says simply. “It will be what it will be.”

Liam sighs but nods again, which Zayn takes to be a small victory. Gently, he untangles their fingers and presses his palm flat against Liam’s back, steering him towards Louis’s tent. It’s a slow walk, Liam trembling against his hand and clearly hesitant, but once they’re there he straightens himself up and runs a hand through his hair, then takes a deep, shaky breath.

“Harry?” he calls slowly, quietly. “Harry, are you there?”

There’s a moment of silence, then Zayn hears rustling and then Harry steps out of the tent, shoulders slumped and hair scraped back from his face and held in a bun by a small piece of twine. His eyes are sunken, ringed with dark circles like he hasn’t slept a wink, and there are noticeable tear tracks staining his cheeks that glint in the midday sun. He looks absolutely furious and Zayn’s almost ready to step away from him because he has never seen him look like this before, but then their eyes meet and a stray sob bursts from the boy, which he tries to cover with his hand but fails.

Zayn barely thinks before he darts forward, wrapping him in his arms tightly and just _holding_ him. Harry’s arms wrap around his back loosely, face buried in his chest. The wails and sobs leaving his spent body are gut-wrenching and Zayn’s heart feels like it’s breaking a million times over as he holds him close, murmuring whatever words come to mind into his ear in the hope that it will calm him, solace him, do _something._ Harry’s nails are digging into his back, his skin damp and sweaty to the touch but Zayn’s doesn’t pay it any mind, just clings to him in the hope that he can help in some way.

He isn’t sure how long he stands there, clinging to him like a mother to a crying child, but all he can think of is how _small_ Harry seems in that moment. Harry has always been tall, almost rivalling Liam in height, but now Zayn is reminded of how young in his years Harry is, how he has never seen life and suddenly all he has may be ripped from him in an instant.

“Harry, Harry,” he tries to soothe, cradling his head to his chest and pressing his lips into his hair. “Harry, brother, all will be well.”

Harry whips his head up so fast he almost head-butts Zayn in the chin. “Don’t,” he hisses, yanking himself out of Zayn’s arms. He takes a step back and wraps his own arms around himself. “Do _not_ act as if this will all be fine when you know _nothing!”_

“H-Harry,” Zayn says again, stunned. “I meant no offence. I just wish to…”

Harry laughs humourlessly, wiping his nose on his wrist. “Your wishes will not pull him back from death. Your wishes will not _save his life,_ Zayn.” He wraps his arm around himself again, shooting glares between Liam and Zayn both. “What do you want? To see him? To say goodbye?”

“I wish to know how he is,” Liam says, stepping forward on one leg, but Harry immediately recoils. “Harry, I…”

“Stop saying my name!” Harry cries, pulling at his tunic in distress. “Stop saying it as if we are brothers!” He takes a deep breath, stamping his foot against the muddy ground, and shrugs with feigned nonchalance. “How he is? He is dying, Liam. He runs with a fever and I need to change the dressings on his wound every few minutes. He needs water and rest, but we are away from proper houses where those will come readily. What more do you want to hear?”

Liam looks dumbfounded, blinking unseeingly at Harry like he’s trying to fight back his own tears. Zayn tries to reach for Harry again but Harry flinches away, glaring at Zayn’s hand.

“Harry,” he tries again weakly. “And how are you?”

“Does it matter?” Harry asks, voice breaking. “My love is _dying,_ Zayn, I am fucking _wonderful…_ ”

“Alright, alright, I am sorry,” Zayn says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Stupid question, perhaps. But I wish to know if there is anything either of us can do for you in this time. To make it easier, or…”

“Pray tell, how will you make it easier?” Harry sniffs.

“If… if you need a shoulder to cry on,” Zayn offers, “or if either of you need food or water or clean sheets.”

“Nothing is clean anymore,” Harry says with a humourless laugh. “I don’t… I don’t know what I need, I…”

“Can I hold you?” Zayn pleads, holding his arms out again tentatively. “Please, I want to make it known that you are not alone in your pain, I…”

Harry’s bottom lip trembles, teeth capturing it and then releasing it as he surges forward, toppling into Zayn’s outstretched arms and clinging to him again. Zayn closes his eyes as he buries his face into Harry’s shoulder, pressing a few gentle kisses into it. A few seconds later, another pair of arms wrap around them and Harry’s sobs get louder, more heart-wrenching as he turns his face into Liam’s chest.

They stand there in an awkward embrace for a little longer, until a gentle palm on Zayn’s chest pushes him back carefully and Harry steps back, wiping his eyes on his tunic. Liam’s eyes are also damp so Zayn inches a little closer, placing a gentle but firm hand back on the small of his back.

“Thank you,” Harry whispers. “Thank you, I…”

“We are not letting you go,” Liam says. His voice comes out a little strangled and Zayn pretends not to see as he wipes at his eyes. “You and Louis… you are two of the most important people in my life and I will do my best for you both, Harry, I _will._ ”

“Do you want to see him?” Harry asks timidly. “I think he would like that, to see you if this is to be the end.” He sniffs and pushes some of his escaped curls from his eyes. “Just don’t mention his hair.”

Zayn chuckles sadly and Liam nods, scrubbing his hand over his face before he takes a deep breath and follows Harry into the tent. Zayn watches them go, happy to wait outside and let his husband have a moment with his brother, but Liam’s hand finds his, eyes wide and pleading for him to follow.

It’s dark and muggy inside, air pungent with the smell of blood and sweat. The tent is wide and right in the middle lies Louis’s bed. Zayn can barely make his body out at first, so swaddled up in blankets and pillows, but then he hears a weak cough and a head appears, peering over the blankets for Zayn and Liam.

“Brother,” he croaks weakly, followed by a painful cough. Harry’s over to him in a second, holding a goblet of water to his lips with an arm around his back for support. Louis sips obediently until he’s had his fill then sags back into Harry’s hold, who rests him carefully back down onto his nest of pillows. “Brother, you came.”

“Of course I came,” Liam rasps, inching forward and bending down to sit next to Louis’s bed. Zayn follows cautiously, resting a light hand on Liam’s shoulder and smiling down at Louis, who shoots him a frail smile back. “I am not leaving you.”

“I should hope not, I slaughtered countless men for you back there,” Louis jokes feebly. Liam chuckles wetly, bringing a hand to stroke down Louis’s cheek. “You might not want to touch me, brother, I would wager I am pretty disgusting. I would say the same to Harry if he would give me the choice.”

“Shut up,” Harry tells him. He presses a lingering kiss into Louis’s forehead. “I’ll be back in a second, my love.”

Louis nods, eyes closing and opening again at the touch. Once Harry’s left the tent, he turns back to Liam and Zayn. Liam opens his mouth to say something, but Louis cuts him off.

“If this is my end,” he says, eyes wide and fierce, “if this is my end then you will take care of him for me, you promise?” Zayn gulps and Liam’s body goes rigid under his hand, but Louis is insistent. “ _Promise_ me.”

“I promise,” Liam assures, lacing his fingers with Louis’s. “I promise, I do, but it will not be your end, it won’t…”

Louis laughs, except it comes out more of a wheeze and he ends up coughing. Zayn hurries around his bed for the goblet but he’s waved off as Louis takes a deep, agonizing breath.

“I know I am not well, I do not need these false reassurances,” he gasps out. “I’m weak and sick, and my shoulder will never be the same again even if I do make it out of this alive.” He shakes his head as Liam tries to speak again. “I need to make arrangements before we can reminisce and speak of happier times, you understand?”

“No,” Liam croaks, “no, because I will make sure you are to live.”

“You are not the gods,” Louis says gently. “You cannot make that kind of statement. But anyway. My father is not to have the gold I leave behind, Harry is, understood? And my sisters… make sure that they are being treated well, yes? Make sure Lottie finds herself a nice husband or wife.”

“Louis…”

“Make sure Harry lives well,” Louis continues after another fit of coughing. Zayn can see he’s squeezing Liam’s hand so tight it looks painful. “Find someone who can teach him a trade, or at least make sure he finds love again with someone who knows one. I want him happy, whether I am there or not.”

“You will be,” Zayn says, and he’s surprised himself when the words leave his mouth. “I can… let me speak with Father, there might be something I can ask of him.”

“Zayn,” Louis says gently, “you know as well as I do that he cannot intervene. And what would he grant even if he could?” He shakes his head against his pillows. “If I am to die…” He pauses, taking a deep, haggard breath as a rogue tear slips from his eye. “If I am to die, then here is as good a place as any.” The coughing starts again but he waves off any help from Zayn. “I am comfortable for the most part, I have my love and my brothers with me, I have the knowledge that the battle is won and you two are together once more…” He shrugs, gazing upwards as Harry shuffles back into the tent, bandages and a bowl of water in his hands. “Thank you, my darling.”

Harry sets the bowl down on the ground and kneels beside him, brushing his sweaty fringe from his eyes. He then soaks a length of the fabric into the water and uses it to mop at Louis’s brow, gently cleaning over his forehead and cheeks.

“I was just saying to Liam about your life back in Sparta if I do not return with you,” Louis says, wrapping a hand around Harry’s wrist. Harry clearly wasn’t anticipating that because his hand slips and he ends up squeezing cold water onto Louis’s pillow. “ _Oipho,_ that’s cold!” He reaches up to cup Harry’s cheek but he pulls back with wild eyes. “Love. _Harry.”_

“I’m sorry,” Harry croaks. He rings out the cloth onto the ground and pats a dry one around his face. “Sorry, Louis, I…”

“I know, I know,” Louis says, staring up at him with an unreadable expression. “I know, my love, but I need to be prepared…”

“I want nothing of yours, only you,” Harry whimpers, not meeting his gaze. “If… if I cannot have you, then I will simply take up my old post again, if Liam will have me.”

Zayn can’t help but gape at him, Liam across from him looking equally as shocked. “Harry,” he says lowly. “I could not ask that of you, not anymore. You are my brother, not my slave…”

“I do not want what does not belong to me,” Harry cuts in. He hoists Louis up and turns him onto his side, untying the bandage from his shoulder and unwinding it slowly. “And titles and riches do not belong to me. I am a slave by birth and I would be content to die that way.”

“Harry,” Louis grunts, wincing at whatever medicine Harry is pouring onto his open wound. His breathing gets a little heavier, more ragged, as Harry picks up another damp cloth and dabs at the bloody gash. “Harry, let me look after you.”

“No,” Harry says firmly, though his voice shakes as he says it. “Your gold would be put to better use by making sure your sisters are provided for. I am happy with the life I have always led under Liam’s service. I could not possibly be anything else.”

“Harry…”

“I am still a slave,” Harry tells them. “My papers are still in Liam’s study, showing of my possession to him. I have never been freed and I do not need to be, unless you are to live and wish to make me yours.”

“You are already mine,” Louis says desperately. “ _Oipho,_ Harry, why did you not remind me of this before we left the city?”

“We had more important things to do,” Harry says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “You had a battle to plan, I was still sickly and weak…”

“Oh, my Harry,” Louis whispers. Zayn feels like he’s intruding on something that he and Liam should not be witnessing, with the way Louis nuzzles his face into Harry’s hand and the way Harry kisses him so gently in return. “I love you so vastly.”

“I love you,” Harry whispers back. “Louis, I… oh, _gods,_ Louis, don’t leave me, don’t, _please…_ ”

“I won’t, I won’t, I _can’t…_ ” Louis sobs, crying out as he tries to move his bad arm to hold Harry closer. “ _Oipho, oipho!”_

Harry’s still crying quietly as he wraps up Louis’s shoulder in fresh bandages, and once he’s done he curls up into Louis’s chest, lying there awkwardly and looking impossibly young. It is easy to forget that there are only a few months separating him in age from Liam because he looks so _small,_ his gangly body wrapping itself around Louis’s like a gentle vine and his tired face pressed into his chest. Zayn risks a look over to his husband and notes he too is crying, quite silently given how he usually is, so Zayn hurries round, bending down to take him in his arms.

They must be a sight, four grown men weeping like little boys in a tent in the middle of a field but Zayn doesn’t care and he wagers the other three don’t either. He just cradles Liam’s head into his chest, dry lips on his temple, wondering if there’s anything he can do to save the life of the person who means so much to all of them.

*

They’re awoken the next day by a loud bell being struck, chiming loudly throughout the field. Liam’s face is shoved unceremoniously into Zayn’s chest and it takes him a few seconds to register where he is or why there’s a gentle hand on his cheek, stroking over his stubble.

“Morning, my love,” he hears, before he feels lips in his hair. “Liam? Are you awake?”

Liam makes a noise of affirmation back, taking a deep breath before he opens his eyes, blinking sleepily before he meets Zayn’s gaze. “Good morning, _agapi mou._ ”

“Morning,” Zayn says again. He ducks down for the softest of kisses, fast and chaste. “How did you sleep?”

“Well, I think,” Liam replies. A shudder runs through him from the morning chill and he pulls a face, tugging the blankets tighter around them both. “Yourself?”

“Also well,” Zayn murmurs. “Better with you, always better with you.”

Liam grins, eyes crinkling happily as he does so because there is nothing more beautiful to him than Zayn in the morning. “Same, my love, same.” He groans as the bell chimes loudly again. “I take it we are needed then?”

“We march in an hour, I think,” Zayn says, groaning to himself as Liam reluctantly pulls the blankets off them. “At least warn me, Liam!”

“Apologies,” Liam grumbles, standing up and reaching for his cloak. “Can you see to Louis while I see to the _taxiarchos?”_

 _“_ Of course,” Zayn says, sitting up and accepting his own cloak from Liam. “Who is transporting him?”

“Harry himself without a doubt; he will not leave his side,” Liam says. “And then myself, most likely, if Harry tires. I trust few others with his life, however foolish that may seem.”

“Not foolish,” Zayn says as he nods. “Very well. I will make sure he is prepared and comfortable for travel.” He stands up and kisses Liam’s cheek, then wraps the cloak around himself before he shuffles out. Liam steps into his sandals and follows shortly behind him, shielding his eyes from the bright morning sun as he surveys camp for a second.

It is already loud and bustling in the camp, with men taking down the tents and loading them into carts. Healers are milling around and tending to wounds and a large pot of something cooking away and being distributed to the men for their breakfast. Liam’s eyes seek out Niall, who can be seen near the food wolfing down whatever’s in his bowl, and he heads over towards him for a meal of his own.

A short bowl of unsweetened porridge later and the pair head over to Louis’s tent, where they wait outside while Harry bathes him and then assist in getting him into the stretcher that Harry and another soldier will carry until they need to rest and swap, then Liam and Peithon will take over. Louis still looks as ill as he did the day before, shivering even under a sea of blankets and clinging to Harry like he can’t bear to let him go for even a second. His shoulder bandages are still crimson with blood and Liam presses a gentle kiss into his greasy hair before he trots off to survey the rest of the proceedings.

Realistically, it should be easily to move half as many men across the land as before but it is with a heavy heart that Liam commands his men forward because there should be so many more of them stood in front of him. It is also the first time in any war he has not walked with Louis at his side, but he has Niall and his love; Zayn’s hand is once again a firm and welcome presence on his back. He looks around at his best friends – Niall to his right, Louis behind him with Harry holding the handles of his stretcher, Hipponax and Eleanor with Sophia to his left, Peithon and the other _taxiarchos,_ and he feels a rush of affection for them all. He’s in charge of getting them home safe, he’s in charge of saving his brother’s life and keeping him as well as he can, and he could not have done any of this without them.

He clears his throat to address the crowd. “Men of Sparta!” he yells, sliding an arm around Zayn’s waist as he does so. “The time to return home is now! You will soon see your home, and your families once more! But we will never forget the men that died for us here in Troy. Sparta has triumphed but we will _never_ forget the sacrifices of the Spartan men! We shall honour them in due time, but until then I wish for you to stay safe, to walk well and to rest well. I swear to you, I will get you home as soon as I can, because you deserve it more than words can say. I thank you from the bottom of my heart, and Zayn’s, for being here for us both, and for your brothers too. This battle will not be forgotten, and will be spoken of for many years to come, but before you can start deciding how heroically you wish to speak of yourself, let us return to our beds. For Sparta!”

“For Sparta!” echoes the cheer of five thousand men. Perhaps it is not as loud as it once was, but it still reaches all around them, making Liam grip a little tighter to Zayn in pride. Even a weak cheer from Louis reaches his ears and that just makes him grin wider, throwing a fist towards him.

After a few more minutes of getting everything organised, the journey begins. It’s not too bad for the first few miles – the day is warm but not unpleasantly so – but it’s a little difficult to get a rhythm going to the walk because they have to slow down or stop several times for the injured to catch up or take a breather. The day feels long and everyone is weary, so after a few whispered words with Niall and Hipponax they end up setting up a rough, makeshift camp for the night in a field about ten miles from where they began.

Some of the healthier men set off to catch rabbits for their meal, and in the meantime Liam helps Harry get Louis into the tent they’ve set up for him, then sends servants off for clean water and bandages. Louis’s cough seems just as strong as the day before but his skin is cooler to the touch, which is a relief. Liam calls over Anthemion, chief healer in their party, to examine him while they eat their meal and when he emerges from the tent a deep frown is set into his features. Liam panics for a split second but Anthemion reassures him with some rather surprising news.

“The fever has deteriorated faster than I have ever seen it do so before, especially after he was taken as ill as he was,” he says, sounding rather bewildered. “His shoulder is still poor, and he is not in well health at all, but I do not think the fever will take him.”

Liam stares at him blankly, and then turns to Harry, then back to Anthemion. “Are… are you certain? It is simply gone?”

“Not gone, but healing faster than I have ever seen,” Anthemion says. “The medicines I have given him have never worked this fast on anyone else. It… well, it is something akin to a miracle.”

“By the gods,” Liam whispers almost to himself, stunned. “I thank you, Anthemion. Will you come back to check on him again before we sleep?”

Anthemion nods and then bustles off. Liam turns back to Harry, smiling as he takes in his slack mouth and flabbergasted expression. He reaches over and places a gentle hand on his knee, squeezing it.

“The gods favour you, Harry,” he says. “You and Louis both. This is the only explanation…” His grin widens. “You see how much the world and Olympus wishes the two of you happiness?”

“Do not say that,” Harry says in a small voice. Liam’s taken aback by his response, furrowing his brows, so Harry barrels on. “I am overjoyed he no longer burns with fever, I am, but I do not wish to get my hopes up. There is still time for the wound to get infected, or… or the _gods forbid,_ but what if I drop him? What if we all…?”

He’s cut off by the sound of wheezy coughing and he scrabbles to his feet, darting back inside the tent before Liam can say another word. Liam stares after him, wincing as the coughing continues and then jumping as Zayn returns with two bowls of meat.

“You alright?” he asks as he sits himself down, handing a bowl to Liam. “Is Louis okay?”

“Louis… Louis’s fever has dissipated, so says Anthemion,” Liam says, still stunned. Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up. “Either this medicine has done unspoken wonders or the gods favour him, I…”

“His fever has gone completely?” Zayn repeats. “Healed from his body?”

“Not completely, but he is _healing_ ,” Liam says with a short laugh. “Would… would it be wrong to assume your father has had a hand in this?”

Zayn pauses, a spoonful of supper halfway to his mouth. “Perhaps? I could not say, I mean, you know how reluctant he usually is to interfere with human matters.” He winces as the sound of another wheezy cough. “Also, he is not _cured_ , is he? He is still not a well man.”

Liam shrugs. “That is true, I suppose,” he notes, somewhat sadly. “It is still an excellent thing to happen though, however it came about. Anthemion says he will more than likely survive the night.”

Zayn beams at that, finally bringing the food to his mouth. “That is wonderful news,” he murmurs after he’s swallowed it. “Is Harry with him now?”

Liam nods. “I imagine we will not see much of Harry for the rest of the night, bless his soul.” He takes a bite of his own dinner. “Are you okay? Is the food to your taste?”

“The food is fine,” Zayn replies. “It’s not quite Perrie’s chicken served with Caroline’s bread but it will suffice.”

Liam smiles around his spoon. “Not long to go,” he tells him. “I’ll wager Paxos will feed us even better when we get to Argos.”

“Can’t wait,” Zayn says with a yawn. “I have always wished to see Argos, you know.”

“Not long to go,” Liam repeats. He shuffles a little closer to Zayn and rests his head on his shoulder. “Two more days walk and then we will get to the ships.”

“How long did it take you to sail here?” Zayn asks. “I lost track of time on our sail, just spent most of my time asleep.”

Liam kisses his jaw, chest tightening at the thought of Zayn sailing alone across the sea he’s so scared of. “Forty-five moons, I counted,” he says. “Unpleasant, but with any luck the sail will be as easy as it was before.”

“Father favours you,” Zayn reminds him, “and he is the god of thunder and lightning.”

“Yes, but it is Poseidon I worry about,” Liam says. He sets his empty bowl on the floor and wraps his arms around Zayn’s waist properly. “And the little things fill me with dread. Like the water will not be clean, but Louis needs clean water for his injuries, not to mention the other injured men. And what about food, bed space, wine…”

“Liam, Liam,” Zayn says gently. “You got people here, and you will get them home again. You _will._ ”

Liam sighs and turns his face into Zayn’s shoulder. He feels dry lips press against his temple and he leans into it, humming to himself. “I know, I know. I just…” He turns to look at Zayn, cupping his cheek. “You know what I’m like.”

“I do,” Zayn agrees. “And you are a fool if you think even for a second that you will not get these men to safety to the best of your abilities. I have every faith.”

“I… thank you,” Liam murmurs softly. “I do not have the words to tell you how much it means to have you here with me and to know your faith is still strong.”

“Always,” Zayn says. He presses a long kiss onto Liam’s mouth and when he pulls back his eyes are sparkling with the same love he saw in them on their wedding days. “Always, Liam.”

*

Forty-seven days later, their boat docks in Argos’s port. Liam, Zayn, Niall, Harry and Louis (on rather shaky legs) step down from it, the five of them pressed close together in happiness, and take in the sight on the great, grand city before them and all take a deep breath at the same time, then laugh at how synchronised living in close quarters has made them.

But it’s more than that.

It’s the fact that Zayn spent so many days trying to get used to the sight of water so he could be near his husband that Liam thought his heart might burst with pride.

It’s the fact that Niall got so seasick that they had to look after him almost as much as they had to look after Louis.

It’s the fact that Harry and Niall are now almost joined at the hip, friends that transcend ranks, fears and prejudices that Liam never thought he would see from either of them in his life.

It’s the fact that Louis fought through, battling every sickness and infection, through the sleepless nights, the nights of tears and distress when his fever returned and none of them thought he would make it, but came through to the other side of the sea and did it with Harry’s hand clutched firmly in his.

It’s the fact that they didn’t think they would make it, but the hardest part is over.

They’re nearly home.

 


End file.
